


The Sound Of You And Me

by myracingthoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Musicians, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Competition, Developing Relationship, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Marijuana, Marvel Cameos, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smoking, Tour Bus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: Wanda Maximoff never thought she’d be standing in this line. The one that put her one step closer to a stage —one of the biggest in the world, in fact— as she auditioned for the musical television showdown that was Instant Star.So, imagine her surprise when she gets paired with one James Barnes as her on-screen mentor. The one mentor she’s honestly never heard of before.And with his attitude, Wanda kind of wished she could have kept it that way.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Wanda Maximoff
Comments: 51
Kudos: 44





	1. Tennessee

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Welcome to my new winterwitch series, (Edit, because my early morning brain was not working): lovingly beta'd by the wonderful [@treaddelicately](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treaddelicately).
> 
> It is heavily inspired by Canadian cult classic TV show _Instant Star_ , as well as more modern takes (i.e. _Nashville_ ).
> 
> Here’s the format run-down: each chapter will have a song. There’s no required listening, but some of the lyrics will be strewn throughout. Sometimes the songs will be ‘Wanda’s’ in-universe, and sometimes they won’t, but the source will always be explained in the story.
> 
> M rating is for later chapters (much later), mostly to be safe. Any warnings will be posted at the top of chapters.
> 
> This is a little different from my usual type of series, so I hope you’ll enjoy it.
> 
> This chapter’s song is [Tennessee by Kayleigh Goldsworthy](https://open.spotify.com/track/2cTf7Y4MehlUXKq8V2OZZL?si=uY-HDIEeTwyI5sG87vxNPg).

  


_Nashville, TN_

Wanda was trying really hard not to throw up. 

Camera crews paced up and down the lines, egging on hopeful participants for the classic reality TV b-roll. The cocky, easily excitable kind that Wanda knew well —not that she would be the one to fit that role. Already an anxious ball of nerves, she was practically vibrating between rows of posts connected by retractable belts that funnelled them through the process.

It was a well-oiled machine, complete with bored looking volunteers and a sea of clipboards, name tags and paperwork. 

Welcome table. NDA. Additional form to be passed along to the judges. _Next!_

The line-up snaked around the corners of the convention center, hoards of people crowded in around her. The chatter and giggles, the sound of guitars being tuned and a group rendition of ‘Hey Jude’ being put on near the back of the line. If Wanda wasn’t so anxious about her turn in front of the judges, she might have even joined in.

But the lights were hot, the cameras were sweeping across the crowd, and Wanda had a sudden, panicked wondering of whether she’d remembered to put on deodorant this morning.

A quick sniff of her shirt settled that concern, but not the rest.

“What are you nervous about? They’re going to love you,” Pietro admonished from beside her, shifting the guitar case in his hands.

After four hours in the sweltering convention centre, Wanda was surprised he was still there. With the attention span of a goldfish, she usually couldn’t get him to go to the mall, never mind sitting in a packed line for hours on end. But he stood in a button-up plaid shirt and blues jeans, nary a complaint as they took in the sights and sounds around them. All for the sake of music.

Anything to drown out the thumping against Wanda’s ribs.

“You have to say that, Piet. You’re my brother.”

“Brother, shmother,” he brushed off with a wave of his hand. “You have talent. Probably more than most of the people in this line.”

His playful arrogance quickly morphed into a giggle at the indignant huff behind him, tucking a silvery lock behind his ears like it didn’t phase him.

“Be nice,” Wanda warned, nearly slipping into a giggle as she tried to keep her own smile at bay. “I might not be what they’re looking for.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, they’d be stupid to turn you down,” Pietro muttered a little quieter.

But after spending the last twenty years with one another, rarely leaving each other’s side, Wanda couldn’t precisely trust Pietro to be objective when it came to talent. Sure, he was a musician himself, when he could get work at open mics and coffee shops, but not the kind that Wanda wanted to be. Wished she could be, really.

Today was as close to fantasy as Wanda could ever imagine. Steps away from her moment in the spotlight— just her guitar, her music and herself.

Now she just had to avoid screwing it up.

“Hi there. And you are?”

A videographer and a sharply dressed man with a microphone were just a foot away, interviewing the young blonde in line in front of Wanda. She couldn’t have been older than seventeen, guitar and a well-worn leather strap slung over her shoulder. But as much as it dwarfed her, Wanda could see that streak of confidence in her.

“Cassie Lang,” she chirped, shooting a bright smile into the camera lens.

“Cassie, Cassie. You know, I had a cousin named Cassie —well, I did, until she was charged with grand larceny— you know, she was a cleaning lady for that guy from tha—”

The videographer shifted the camera on his shoulder, “Luis. Stay on task, please.”

Wanda could tell his rambling wasn’t a one-off occurrence.

Luis, apparently the host, cleared his throat, “Right, right. So what brings you here today, young Cassie? Is it fair to call you young?”

The girl barked a laugh, “I’m sixteen, from San Francisco, and I’m here because I want to be the next Instant Star.”

“And what is that on your guitar? Is that a squash or—”

Cassie laughed, “It’s a peanut. It’s my dad’s nickname for me.”

Just out of frame, Wanda watched Cassie confidently address the camera and Luis. Pietro was setting up and tuning her guitar as she stared, throat tight, and the tremors starting to set in.

Would she look that natural on camera? Could she?

It was only another minute before Luis showed Cassie to the audition room, and she gave a wave to the crew. The camera pointed at the door until it slammed shut, and then it was silent again. Pietro took the opportunity to quietly drape Wanda’s guitar strap over her shoulder, fixing her shirt’s collar and smoothing her hair. She couldn’t even bring herself to swat his hands away and do it herself. She was so close—

“Hi there. Do you have your form ready?”

Wanda was so far in her head, she hadn’t noticed the petite blonde dressed in all black, holding a clipboard just outside the boundaries of the line. She looked like she had just stepped out of high school but had a commanding presence about her that made her look more official.

There were no times for names and introductions in show business, at least, not this kind of show business. 

“Oh, yes,” Wanda exclaimed, scrambling to hand her the slightly crinkled sheet of paper. “Am I next?”

Her eyes scanned the page, lingering on the signatures and skimming through the questionnaire.

“Yep. Luis will do a brief pre-interview and then an exit interview as you leave the audition room. Any questions?”

Wanda shook her head, “No, I think I’m alright.”

Pietro leaned in, clasping her shoulder. Wanda placed her hand over his, a silent comfort they’d shared since they were children. He didn’t need to say anything; she knew that simple act of solidarity better than she knew herself.

Wanda managed to steady her breath as the light shone down on her, Luis queuing up the cameraman and clearing his throat.

“So who do we have here? Sorry— are you twins? Please tell me you’re twins.”

If there was anything she’d learned from watching American reality television in the last decade of her life, it was that having a story was often the difference between elimination and winning. Wanda had spent the past two weeks pouring over previous winners’ footage, and it was a common thread no matter the competition.

Shoving down every introverted cell in her body, she pasted on a smile and started the script.

“I’m Wanda Maximoff, and this is my twin, Pietro.”

Something in Luis’s eyes sparkled, and for a second, Wanda was concerned he was about to go on another tangent.

“But it’s just you auditioning today, right?” Wanda nodded. “And what made you want to be a musician?”

“We grew up watching a lot of American television, even in Sokovia, whenever we could sneak it. Music was one of the ways we learned English—”

“Like a universal language. That’s beautiful, actually, when you think about it—”

But before Luis could pull on the thread he was just about to unravel, the doors to the audition room swung open, revealing a teary-eyed Cassie. She was sniffing into her palms as she tried to cover her face from the camera.

Ms. Clipboard and the cameraman were quick to pounce, leaving Luis and Wanda staring at each other, heart pounding as she realized this might not go well. 

Luis seemed distracted, eyes flickering over to the sobbing girl as he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and read it in a bored tone, “Uh, yeah. Here. Just a reminder, you have two minutes maximum for the performance, blah, blah, blah. If they tell you to stop, stop. Please don’t approach the hosts unless they ask you too. No autographs or cellphones in the room. Any questions?”

Eyes the size of saucers, Wanda stared back at him and silently shook her head, already overwhelmed.

“Alright, kid, in you go!”

Luis was practically tripping over himself, simultaneously pushing Wanda through the doors and sidling up to Cassie for a post-audition interview.

With one last panicked look to Pietro —he shot her a thumbs up, and a smile— Wanda had less than a second to steady herself.

“Wanda Maximoff, right?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

God, this could be really embarrassing if she screwed up. Wanda nervously eyed the three-camera setup, a close-up on her, a group room shot and a close-up on the judges.

Three people sat behind a table at the head of the room, staring expectantly, if not a little bored. Wanda couldn’t blame them; hours of listening to a bunch of musicians would wear on anyone she’d bet. Left to right, it was hard _not_ to be starstruck at the legends about to judge her.

Looking at her over his thick-rimmed glasses, the brunet in the middle asked, “Is that an accent I hear?”

Snapping to attention as strolled to the center of the room, Wanda realized the man talking was Tony Stark, head of Stark Industries, one of North America’s biggest labels. He looked a little bored, doodling on the sheet of paper in front of him as he talked. 

Wanda was half a second too slow on the uptake, nervous seeping through her thin veneer. Not a great start.

“My brother and I immigrated from Sokovia,” Wanda explained, a little rushed. “It always stuck with us.”

“And what are you going to sing for us today?” Carol Danvers was cool and professional, expression indifferent as she assessed Wanda from head to toe.

Wanda had expected as much. Out of all of them, Carol’s reactions were always the most subdued, in business and entertainment, so she’d be the one to impress her if she wanted to go three for three.

“I uh, wrote this song a few years ago when I first moved to Nashville, and I thought I’d play it for you. It’s called Tennessee.”

“Well, that’s apt,” Stark snorted.

After glancing at the rest of the judges, Shuri spoke this time, “Take it away.”

Wanda nodded, taking two deep breaths as she readied her fingers on the fretboard. A tap of her foot to count her in, and she was off, voice strong.

“ _Well, there’s a siren that is deafening, as I try to uncover where I’ve been. But everybody’s second-guessing all the moves their pawns have made, and I laugh to myself at this mess I’ve made._ ”

Wanda always smiled when she played; Pietro always told her people could hear it in her voice, the joy and the peace she had that only came with a guitar in her grasp. Wanda’s eyes drifted across the small audience, searching for any hint of a reaction.

“ _I’m not the girl I always thought that I would be, and I stopped holding all my breath on silly things. But all the years I spent just trying to believe that I’d make it out of here and onto something only in my dreams. In my dreams._ ”

Tony couldn’t take his eyes off her, chin in his palm, pen abandoned on the desk.

“ _There’s a light that’s up ahead, and I’ll be catching it the first thing in the morning. I’m on my way, towards a southern town beneath the stars; I’ll wander every night, cause Tennessee, you’ve been the nicest place to me._ ”

From the corner of her eye, she could spot Carol absentmindedly tapping her fingers on the desk to the rhythm, and Wanda couldn’t hold back a smile. 

That was two.

“ _And I’m on my way,_ ” Wanda took a deep breath in, milking the flourishes and the runs in the last breakdown of the song. “ _I’m on my way._ ”

“ _I’m not the girl I always dreamed that I would be, but on my way to there, I know I’ll surely see the mile markers as I drive down 65. Take me to somewhere that had always made me feel alive. Oh, alive._ ”

Shuri was the only one Wanda wasn’t sure about; she still looked a little bored as Wanda started the last chorus, eyes drifting to the form on the desk as she scribbled some notes.

“ _Cause there’s a light that’s up ahead, and I’ll be catching it the first thing in the morning. I’m on my way, towards a southern town beneath the stars; I’ll wander every night, cause Tennessee, you’ve been the nicest thing to me._ ”

Wanda closed her eyes, half-expecting to wake up from a dream when she opened them. Instead, the sound of scattered claps filled the room.

“Wow.” That was Tony, who took off his tinted glasses to get a better look at her. “Where have you been all my life?”

“You wrote that yourself?” Carol asked. “The lyrics and everything.”

Wanda smiled, immediately relieved. 

“Yes. My brother helped with some of the guitar.”

Tony took a break from his incessant table tapping and leaned back in his chair as he looked down the table, “So, folks. What do we think? Ready for a vote.”

Shuri nodded, “I’m ready.”

“Me too.”

Wanda was pretty sure her heart was going to beat out of her chest as she stood in the centre of the floor. Wasn’t there supposed some back and forth banter? Critique? Was she so bad that they were dying to get her out of the room as quickly as possible?

“Well, since I asked, I’ll start,” Tony said. “And it’s an emphatic yes. Definitely. I’m loving this whole… small-town chic thing you’ve got.”

Wanda’s hands were over her mouth as it turned into a wide ‘o’ in shock, “Wow, uh, thank you.”

“I just don’t see it,” Shuri said further down the table. “Sorry, Wanda. But I’m looking for the future of music here, and I think you could use a year or two to explore your sound.”

A sharp pang in Wanda’s gut cut in at her words, but she worked hard to keep a polite smile on her face, “I understand.”

And now all that stood in between Wanda and her dream was one sombre-looking blonde in the middle of the judges’ table.

“What about you, Carol?” Tony asked like he was fishing for a particular answer.

Wanda could barely hear them over the pounding in her ears, eyes locked on the final judgement. No matter what the third answer was going to be, Wanda at least knew she did her best, but that didn’t stop the churning in her stomach as the room sat in silence.

“I agree with Tony,” Carol said, eyes snapping up from her paperwork, glittering blue. “You’ve got heart, kid. Remind me a little of myself, actually, and I want to see what else you can bring.”

The rest of the room seemed to wash away, the words not quite settling in her ears.

“So I’m in?”

“You’re going to LA!” Tony whooped from the judges’ table as Wanda had to hold back tears. “Looks like Tennessee is continuing its nice streak. That’s good, it’ll help the marketing department.”

Taking a shaky breath, she started, “Thank you so much! I-I can’t believe it.”

“Better believe it,” Carol chimed in. “And you better bring your A-game.”

Wanda made her way out of the audition room, hands cupped over her mouth. The bright lights and Luis’s voice met her. Pietro flashed concern until he caught a hint of her smile, the first in the group to know.

“I knew you could do it!” Pietro shouted triumphantly, pulling her into a tight hug the cameraman seemed to zoom in on. “You’re going to do great.”

Her feet left the floor as he spun her around, but the moment was short-lived. Happy enough with their moment of joy b-roll, the lights and camera turned away and wove back into the crowd, looking for the next contestant.

“Who was the no?” Pietro asked, quieter now as the regular competition chatter resumed.

“Shuri,” Wanda explained.

Pietro tipped his head in concession, “Makes sense.”

The blonde PA from earlier in line walked over, “Hi, Wanda. I’m Tandy Bowen. I’m just going to get you to say your goodbyes so we can go sort out paperwork and everything. And if there’s anything you’ll need to get shipped from home. You know, the works.”

“Hi, uh,” Wanda was a little overwhelmed at the thought of picking up and leaving. Somehow her daydreams always stopped before she realized she needed to board a flight. “Nice to meet you?”

Tandy chuckled, “I’m going to get you to go to that room so we can get your flight sorted out.”

“Flight?”

“Oh yes, you’re heading to LA,” Tandy explained. “Tonight.”

Pietro gave her one last hug, whispering assurances in their mother tongue as she tried not to be so weepy about the whole thing. But this would be the longest they’d ever been apart from each other, so a few tears managed to slide down her face, which she quickly wiped away. 

The last thing Wanda needed was another thing for Pietro to tease her about.

When Wanda dreamed of her name in lights on some billboard in the not-so-distant future, she didn’t think it would involve this much paperwork. But 72 pages later, Wanda was staring at the very last signature line across from Production Assistant Tandy Bowen, feeling very much like she was in a dream.

Tandy misread her awe for confusion, giving her a sympathetic look.

“Still not sure?”

“No, actually,” Wanda said as she found her voice. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

A grin stretched across Tandy’s face as Wanda placed the last signature in tall looping strokes, and Tandy quickly went into planning mode, figuring out the luggage pick-up situation and explaining that Wanda would immediately take a cab to the airport for the next flight to LA.

“You’ll be put into a hotel and be what we call sequestered,” Tandy said. “It just means no outside contact, so we don’t have any leaks about the show. NDAs don’t always seem to stop people.”

Having expected that much, Wanda nodded and waited for the rest.

“Long story short, you’re about to eat, sleep and dream music,” Tandy said. “Trust me, there’s nothing else to do in there anyway. No internet, no phone, no TV. Everything you need to know about the outside world is going to come from me, kid. At least for the next four weeks.”

Tandy gave her a rundown of the schedule, though she’d seen hints of it on television. Whatever they chose to air, she supposed. The first three days were reserved for the group competition, where the bulk of competitors would be eliminated just days after landing in LA. Then, roughly four weeks of television shoots and recorded rehearsals for the main event— well, so long as you made it to the finale. 

Otherwise, kiss LA and air time goodbye.

So, Wanda got acquainted with her hotel room, hoisting her luggage onto the rack and tossing off her shoes. She smoothed her hands across the sheets and sighed. This was so much nicer than the Target sheets on her glorified futon back at the studio apartment Wanda shared with her brother. Tandy had warned her she could go stir crazy in the small space, but Wanda wasn’t so sure.

Where she came from, this was _luxury_.

But her next 72 hours would be anything but.


	2. Comets I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More thanks to my incredible beta, [@treaddelicately](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treaddelicately), because without her, this chapter would have been a MESS.
> 
> This (and next) chapter's song is [Comets by Charlie Simpson](https://open.spotify.com/track/4mFyZhh4ZFpofAH46ZeQx9?si=dmZRdZEaSCmUrSRBjIP65g).

_Los Angeles, CA_

Yeah, the first round of eliminations was definitely hell. 

While Wanda ended up being grouped with the wonders that were Daisy Johnson and Val— Wanda couldn’t remember if she _had_ a last name— it was still a blur of late nights, energy drinks, and way too much out-of-tune guitar. The camera seemed to swirl around them after a while, blending into a streak of bulbs and fuzzy overhead mics. Three rounds of performances and eliminations in so many days was a little jarring.

Wanda might have underestimated this particular part of the show.

In fact, she was pretty sure the phrase, ‘ _I swear to god, Daisy, if you’re sharp on the bridge again, I’ll fix your vocal cords myself_ ’ left Val’s lips at least once in those next three days. 

And those times she did manage to make it to bed, actually _in_ bed and not falling asleep over the covers, she’d thought of Pietro back home, hoping she’d come back with a prize. She could almost hear his voice in her ear, a playful tone as he told her to trust the process, to remember what he told her.

_“It’s in the hat,” Pietro said as she laughed, harder still at the frazzled look on his face._

_“The_ bag _. It’s in the bag,” she explained. “They have that saying in English too.”_

And though she didn’t get much solo camera time in that first competition week, it didn’t matter. Wanda, Daisy and Val were one step closer to the finale by the end of it, hugging each other as they squealed on-stage during the elimination. They said goodbye to many of their fast friends at the end of it, but this would be the last of their dedicated group hang-out time. 

Because after the group cull, everyone was on their own.

“You’re going to kill it,” Daisy said, bumping her hip against Wanda’s as they made their way off-stage.

Wanda barked a laugh, “You sound so sentimental. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again.”

“I don’t know if craft services counts as quality time,” Val sniped over her shoulder. “But don’t expect me to cut you any slack. One of us is going to win this, mark my words.”

And while Val was usually one of few words and lots of broody looks, Wanda was inclined to take her seriously, cracking open a water bottle passed to her by a stagehand and nodding along. Tandy was quick to pull her aside and congratulate her, leading her back to the hotel room she’d barely seen the last few days.

And oh, did that shower feel like a whole new lease on life. And those sheets felt like pure silk as she sunk into the bed, exhaustion catching up as her mind finally started to quiet. Wanda dreamt of many hotels like the one she was in, still feeling more fantasy than reality television.

But the last thought that crossed Wanda’s mind was maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she could even see a path to the finale from here.

* * *

The next morning was a rush of fittings and hair and make-up. A slew of producers, designers, and higher-ups dressed in suits that cost more than all of her worldly possessions combined flitting in and out of rooms, debating individual looks and colour schemes for the competitors. Not that Wanda ever saw anyone else that morning; she was officially fending for herself.

Just before lunch, she was herded into a recording booth larger than her apartment, finally getting a good look at the final six. Three new faces huddled around, but not a word was said between them. She was pretty sure it wasn’t a _rule_ that they couldn’t talk to each other, especially when production placed them in the same room, but there was a thick blanket of tension between them.

“Look like a bunch of pratts,” Val muttered under her breath, slotting herself between Daisy and Wanda, who couldn’t hold back their chuckles.

They had been the only intact group after the initial eliminations, and by the cut-eye they were currently being given from across the room, that might not have been a good thing for inter-contestant relations.

Thankfully, a slew of new faces led by a PA interrupted their moment, everyone suddenly aware of the cameras rolling and the newcomers being directed onto their marks. But there was one familiar face in the crowd, already grinning ear-to-ear and hamming it up for the cameras.

“Hellloooo Los Angeles, City of the Angels, La-la land, Tinseltown, El Pueblo—”

“I think just LA is fine, Luis,” a crisp voice shot out from somewhere behind the cameras.

Wanda couldn’t quite make out who it was between the lights and the lurkers, but based on Luis’s reaction and the tone, they seemed like they were in charge. 

“Yes, Miss Romanoff. Understood, Miss Romanoff.”

And with that, it was back to uncomfortable silence until Luis was finally counted down, and the contestants were warned for the first take.

It took three takes for Luis to get his intro down to something approved by _Miss Romanoff_ off-screen, so by the time he started to introduce exactly what was happening today, Wanda was sitting at the edge of her metaphorical seat.

“Today, you’ll be paired with a musical mentor, your _guide_ for the remainder of the competition.”

There was Thor Odinson, the blonde rock god that Wanda recognized him— only thanks to Pietro’s very particular taste in music. He was paired with Val. Nakia, the incredibly talented house artist that had been tearing up the charts with their releases, got Daisy. Hope van Dyne, an EDM star who’d been leading the festival circuit for years, was introduced to Deke Shaw. 

And Wanda’s nerves didn’t let up as they made their way further down the line of mentors, just waiting for her name to be called. 

Matt Murdock, the blind crooner who made headlines by winning the last season of Instant Star, was next to be introduced. Wanda would be lying if she said she was disappointed he was paired with Laura Kinney, the youngest of the group, who barely made it to his shoulder. Strange was the second-last in line, paired with Peter Quill, which, of course, left Wanda with the only name she didn’t recognize.

“Wanda, I want you to meet your mentor, James Barnes.”

The long-haired brunet to the right of Strange stepped forward, and while the two were built similarly, they couldn’t have been more different. Maybe in another time, he could have been the same rocker —somewhere around the ’90s with that mop of dark hair— he was too young to have played in the grunge scene. In combat boots and scuffed jeans, he had a whole other antisocial air about him that she didn’t quite get.

“It’s uh, nice to meet you,” James called past the camera zoomed in on his face. His ‘not even close to a smile, actually a scowl’ look.

The air suddenly went thick, half-hearted claps and whoops for the cameras dying in it as they all looked to Wanda for a reaction.

But there, even in the lights and buzz, he looked no different than any other LA guy. Wanda wouldn’t have been able to pick him out in a crowd, so while the oohs and ahs going on behind her crescendo, she was still left wondering what she was in for. 

“Likewise. I’m excited to work with you,” Wanda put on a smile and a confident nod to the camera, giving them a reasonably believable performance.

As soon as the cameras turned back to Luis for the outro, Wanda had already tuned out the noise around her, brain trying to process that she’d essentially just be thrown into a group assignment. Those ones she hated in high school. And she was forced to work with someone she’d never even heard of.

What if they disagreed? 

What if he had awful taste? 

What if he tried to change her into something she didn’t want to be?

But before she could come to a conclusion, the union-mandated lunch buzzer rang, and everyone began to scatter, leaving mics abandoned on a nearby table before the group pulled up some chairs as they waited for everyone’s sharpie-marked catering orders.

The chatter was spreading, though no one seemed to want to cross into the established trio’s atmosphere, shooting them curious glances between plastic forkfuls. But Wanda was just happy to have anyone besides Tandy to confide in at all, even though Val was keen to focus on her food.

“You’re so lucky you got Nakia! She’s amazing,” Wanda gushed to Daisy, whose eyes sparkled a little at her excitement.

“Yeah, I’m excited,” Daisy said with a grin before she waggled her eyebrows. “What do you think about _your_ mentor?”

Wanda didn’t miss her inflection, the way her eyes bobbed up and down when she said his name. Apparently, her mentor was somewhat of a heartthrob or _something_. Whatever that meant. Wanda wasn’t sure she could see how she could see that grumpy mug as some sort of pop star.

“Still trying to get a read on him,” Wanda explained. “Can I ask you, what do you know about James?”

Daisy looked at her as if she’d grown three heads, and suddenly, Wanda regretted showing her hand.

“He was in that emo band in the early 2000s, The Howlies. The Howling Commandos?” Daisy explained, concern painting her face when Wanda didn’t immediately recognize it. “When the band broke up —it was messy— he went legit and started producing. He must have produced like 3 of Billboard’s top 10 right now.” 

Wanda gulped, throat thick as she realized just how out of her element she was.

“You didn’t recognize him at all, did you?”

“I had…” Wanda started with a gulp, eyes locked to Daisy’s. “In a way.”

Pietro used to make fun of them with their skinny jeans and black eyeliner. Far from her usual listening habits of soft country and broadway. But Wanda wasn’t about to say that out loud, not when there was a chance a camera would overhear her and play it up for some villain edit. 

So far, her performance hadn’t been at the mercy of the audience, but she knew going forward that it was desperately important to keep them on her side.

“Well, if you’re lucky, you might even get to know him in other ways,” Daisy said with a smirk as Wanda tried not to choke on her food.

The rest of the lunch went quietly, Wanda too lost in her thoughts to be much of a conversationalist.

By the time Tandy swung her by hair and make-up for touch-ups, Wanda was closer to throwing up from nerves than she was to a resolution. She tried to get a handle on her bouncing knee as she sat in the chair, watching as they powdered under her eyes.

The last thing she wanted was to look out of place among the perfectly-coiffed cast.

But Wanda didn’t have time to think too hard about her up-close first impression, because the next thing she knew, she was guided to a duct-taped marker on the ground right across from a leather-jacket wearing James Barnes.

And sure, he was nice to look at, she supposed. There was a certain charm to his bristly face, dimples hidden somewhere amongst the five o’clock shadow, and those blue eyes could light up a room. He totally would have been Wanda’s type…

If he hadn’t opened his mouth.

He seemed bored throughout the whole shot, where he dramatically watched her audition footage right in front of her. And sure, that alone might have been forgivable, but his dialogue? It seemed like he was trying to get a rise out of her, like he was trying to play it up for the cameras.

“The little country twang thing you have goin’ on? It’s cute but a little dated. Guess we’ll just have to see how the audience reacts to it, _and_ whether you’ll be able to work with one of my songs instead.”

Wanda tried to hold her polite smile at his words.

“For this week’s challenge, you’ll have to choose a song from my discography to cover for the live performance.”

The producer behind the camera yelled, “Cut!” just before the lights and overhead mic were quickly swept out of view and into the next recording booth. But Wanda’s brain was still swirling at his jab, realizing she hadn’t even had a chance to get a word in edge-wise, so she couldn’t hold back the scoff that fell from her lips.

“ _Dated_? From the former emo group member?” Wanda blurted out before her brain could stop her.

And as much as the vindictive comment would have been commonplace had the insult come from Pietro or some open mic heckler, this was different. This was in front of cameras and crew and in front of someone who could probably end her career with a tweet if he wanted to.

She had to hold back a flush as an unimpressed look graced James’s face in an instant.

“It was _pop-punk_.”

Something about his petulant tone made her snort. 

“Please tell me you kept the black skinny jeans.”

He sighed, already exasperated but didn’t seem to be angry, “Listen, I’m just trying to tell you that you can do better. I’ve heard you; I know you have it in you.”

Was that… a compliment? It was hard to tell sandwiched between some of the harshest criticism she’d had said to her face. Wanda was about ready to give James the cold shoulder and write him off entirely as a PA pulled off her mic and cleared her to leave.

She was three-quarters of the way to the door when he added, “And to answer your question: no. Once I started actually working out and not just living off junk in the back of vans and tour busses, I couldn’t get them past my ankles.”

Wanda’s chuckle drifted down the hall behind her.

Maybe there was hope for him yet.

* * *

When Tandy came around post-dinner to see if there was anything she needed, Wanda had to ask.

“Is there any chance I can get some of my mentor’s music? You know, like research?”

Wanda wasn’t lying; the assignment was to do a cover, so she’d have to listen to his music at some point. But she couldn’t place why she felt so nervous about the request. Why it felt so personal now. She tried to brush it off as nerves because of his flip responses to her music earlier, but she knew there was more.

She just didn’t particularly want to unravel that train of thought quite yet.

“Research, right,” Tandy said with a bit of a lilt, arms across her chest like she wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, I can get you an old school Discman since we can’t give you anything with internet access. I’m sure for you, it’ll be just like the good old days.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, “I’m not _that_ old, Tandy.”

It wasn’t lost on Wanda that she’d been calling her ‘kid’ for the past few days. Apparently, twenty was ancient for her barely eighteen-year-old Production Assistant.

“Sure, sure,” she giggled, closing the hotel room door behind her.

To her credit, she was true to her Production Assistant word, with a stack of CD cases, a short bio of her mentor and a blue and silver Discman arriving at her door an hour later. She flipped through the covers, a mix of abstract paintings and black and white photography. 

Moody. Of course. If there was one word she could use to describe James Barnes, it definitely was moody.

While she’d been looking for James Barnes to be credited on The Howlies’ work, she instead found _Bucky_ Barnes in his place.

She could see why he dropped the moniker when he transitioned his ‘serious’ solo music.

Flipping the CD booklet in her hand, she took in the hand-written lyrics and cheesy 2010’s promotional photography. But the more she listened, the most she gravitated towards that more recent solo work— the last thing he ever released as a musician before he became a full-time Producer. 

And it was when she started listening to _Comets_ that she realized they might not have been so different after all.

“ _Am I a terrible liar, just a southern mess?  
Am I the signature you’ll forge on the birthday cards  
That I’ll forget to send  
Can we please just not pretend  
That all my thoughtlessness had purpose  
Do you think that it was worth it?_”

It was easy for Wanda to listen between the lines of the serious-sounding solo album of a former emo artist. There was this almost hopefulness in it, in between the self-deprecation and acoustic guitar. The low, raspy tones of his voice amplified against the acoustic guitar. The one she swore she could listen to forever, even sing the alphabet for her.

“ _I’m not the same as I was when we were younger_.”

And for a guy who seemed to hate country, there was this particular _twang_ to his voice and his tempo that edged into indie territory. And something about that made part of her want to sing it and shove the obviousness of it in his face.

James thought the country was hokey and outdated? 

Wanda had no problem proving him wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we finally meet James Buchanan Barnes! 
> 
> How's everyone enjoying the backstory so far? Any favourite cameos? 👀


	3. Comets II

The morning of the live performance was a whirlwind of wardrobe tests and polaroids for approvals. Wanda didn’t get to see the wizard behind the curtain, Ms. Romanoff, in person today. Her assistant was passing photos of the options for final approvals.

And by the end of being bustled around a room full of clothes she’d never be able to afford on her own, Wanda just needed a breather. She found herself at the side of the stage one performance before she was expected for soundcheck, watching as the band warmed up ahead of her rehearsal time.

It was soothing, listening to the guitar and bassist play riffs from her backing track, figuring out the levels and the stage light timing. Wanda was so invested in the music that she didn’t notice someone sneak up behind her.

“You know it’s actually _scarier_ than it looks out there.”

The whisper in her ear almost sent Wanda jumping out of her skin, whipping her head around to find who she recognized as Peter Quill from the day before.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Val groused from behind him before Wanda could get in a word edgewise. “That’s my job.”

But Peter seemed to ignore her, sidling up to Wanda and giving her a very obvious head-to-toe look.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, I’m Peter, and you’re _gorgeous_.”

Maybe if he hadn’t used the worst pick-up line Wanda had heard in her two decades of existence, she would have found it flattering. A hard _maybe_ , she realized as she got another look at him. Why was it that good looking boys were always so much uglier once they opened their mouths?

Maybe it was a music business thing.

“Wanda,” she offered in return, a little coldly, eyes locked on the stage manager who was going through a checklist.

“Nervous?”

“Not really.”

She’d seen people like him play this game before, looking to psyche out their opponent with the type of confidence that edged on boasting. Wanda wasn’t interested in mind games, especially when she’d seen his performance in person.

“Pretty sure Strange is going to be pissed I perform his song better than him,” Quill said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Wanda snorted, “Good luck with that.”

Somehow, she had never been more grateful that Val’s attitude might have rubbed off on her.

Mercifully, before Quill could stutter out a response, the stage manager called her over, shooing all the onlookers back to their dressing rooms so she could get the show on the road.

Wanda was just happy to see Quill go, with enough time to get back to her element.

It was almost familiar this time, the nerves dissipating as she peered out into the empty auditorium. They set her markers and walked her through where the cameras would be. Every ounce of it floated out of her head as soon as they’d stopped talking, but it was nice of them to think she could remember that through the vomit waiting in the back of her throat.

“ _We swam out past the shallow breakers. I never thought that the tide would take us. We live just to love and learn to give it up. We are in the arms of lovers._ ”

She paced the floor as she sang, watching stagehands running wiring back and forth across the aisles. And as much as she assumed her nerves would bleed through the licks, Wanda had never felt more confident singing a song that wasn’t her own.

“ _We are hopeless. We’re all comets with love for someone carried on us. We live just to learn, but hope never gives us up._ ”

Wanda spotted a familiar mop of brown hair near the emergency exit on the floor, hidden in the dark wing and clearly trying not to be seen. Wanda honed in on him, smiling as she sang the hook into the mic, “ _Soldiers with heavy hearts just reach out into the dark_.”

Wanda swore she could see Bucky’s lips lift into the closest thing she’d seen to a smile yet. But the surprise was more apparent in his eyes, wide and watching from the side of the stage as she finished soundcheck with the band. They weren’t allowed to talk before the show —in fact, he definitely wasn’t supposed to be here for soundcheck. 

Tonight’s performance was supposed to be a reveal of sorts. 

“You should try to eat something,” Tandy whispered into her ear as she led Wanda backstage toward the rush of crew and catering. “I’ve seen what happens when people don’t eat something before they go out there, and trust me, it ain’t pretty.”

She managed to eat half a muffin before the warning glower left Tandy’s face.

“So, meet anyone interesting?” Daisy slumped into the seat beside her, setting down a full tray and digging in.

Wanda chuckled, “You meet Peter Quill yet?”

Daisy groaned into her plate in response. Wanda took that as a definite yes.

“But otherwise, no. Just hoping James doesn’t think I butchered his song.”

Daisy scoffed, dropping her cutlery as she stared at Wanda, seemingly dumbfounded. “I doubt it. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Wanda screwed up her face, looking at Daisy for an explanation.

“Really? God, you’re both clueless,” Daisy sighed, shaking her head as she returned to her meal.

“He literally called my music hokey yesterday on camera.”

“Yeah, that’s _on camera_. Don’t think I didn’t see him slinking away from the auditorium with literal puppy dog eyes.”

Wanda had to force down a blush, trying hard not to choke on her tiny scrap of muffin.

“Anyway, I’m up next, so I’ll see you tonight, probably,” Daisy said, tossing her tray into the pile by the door before patting Wanda on the shoulder. “You should maybe try to get a nap in or something. You look a little peaky.”

It wasn’t like she had a lot of time to do much else. 

Minutes after swallowing the last morsels, Wanda made her way back to the green room, flipping through a months-old magazine and trying to get her head on straight.

By the time she was dressed and properly coiffed, she still felt a little like she was walking through a dream. Standing at the curtain, she watched from side-stage as Val belted out her performance. And though just a moment ago she’d been trying to stave off the acid building in the back of her throat, it was hard to not be entranced by her performance. It was almost hypnotic, and even Wanda could see the enthusiastic expressions of the judges watching on.

All Wanda could focus on was walking to the center of the stage, quietly urging herself not to trip over her own two feet. She didn’t hear the camera people counting her down or the judges making their polite introductions and opening comments.

She didn’t even hear Luis’s intro.

All Wanda remembered was opening her mouth and singing. 

When the cameras were live, and it mattered most, Wanda sang like her life depended on it.

“ _You found me walking through our town in the dead of night. I was looking for you. I always thought that if you loved me in the end, I could fall, but I would mend. But I’m tired of this secret, ’cause I know that I can’t keep it._ ”

And then she seemed to come up for air, eyes taking in the audience and the way Tony was smiling and bopping his head along to the rhythm. Carol had a grin she hadn’t seen before— didn’t know she could manage, frankly. And even Shuri looked intrigued.

“ _I’m not the same as I was when we were younger_.”

She caught James from the corner of her eye at the side of the stage and swore she could make out a smile. A real one, shining in the strobe light.

“ _We swam out past the shallow breakers. I never thought that the tide would take us. We live just to love and learn to give it up. We are in the arms of lovers. We are hopeless. We’re all comets with love for someone carried on us. We live just to learn, but hope never gives us up._ ”

And it seemed the whole audience was on their feet now, clapping along to the rhythm. Wanda couldn’t help but smile as she sang the last line.

“ _Soldiers with heavy hearts just reach out into the dark._ ”

House lights out. Walk off stage. Straight into Tandy’s outstretched arm, guiding her towards the back.

But an unplanned pitstop brought that bright smile back again.

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about,” James murmured in her ear as she passed him in the narrow backstage area. 

Those eyes seemed to catch every stage light in the dark, lips in more of a smile than a smirk. Something about it made her stomach somersault. 

OK, so maybe Bucky _was_ a little different when he wasn’t in front of a camera. She was starting to see that peek through in their little off-camera moments— the few she’d had. It was the only sign that gave her an ounce of hope that he wasn’t as big of a jerk as he defaulted to when the spotlight shone on him.

And considering she didn’t know if Wanda would get to see that smile next week— and wouldn’t for another hour— she’d take it where she could get it.

Wanda spent the next hour practically vibrating. No one would sit with each other as they waited for word, and everyone avoided eye contact. It was hard not to feel the swell of nerves in the air.

If Wanda thought the performance show was high pressure, the elimination felt like being invited to the Grammys— where everything was live-streamed. Every flicker of a microexpression would be analyzed in realtime by thousands (if not _millions_ ) of online viewers.

And Wanda was not here to become a meme.

The first elimination, that blaze of three days of no sleep and all music, seemed like an elementary school recital next to this. It was like they were rolling out their prized show ponies on stage, perfectly stylized from head-to-toe and indiscernible from the celebrity talent set to perform. 

The results show was a masterful dance, with each contestant announced like a participant at a ball. Their mentor led them to the stage as they awaited the result. Wanda was expecting James to hover-hand her over, but he politely offered his elbow, and she gladly held the crook of his arm.

“Now is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Let’s find out who will advance to the next round,” Luis started from center stage. 

The tell-tale drumroll amped up anticipation, and Wanda could feel the vibration in her bones. 

“In first place, with the largest number of votes: Daisy Johnson.”

A sigh and a gracious smile as Daisy crossed the stage. Nakia gripped Daisy’s arm proudly as she left her.

“Next up is,” the crowd seemed to quiet down, waiting for the result. “Deke Shaw.”

A few very loud cheerleaders in the front row squealed at his name, and he shot them some finger guns as he strolled to the other side of the stage.

“Val.”

She quickly strode past Wanda, shooting her a small smile as the audience cheered.

“Laura Kinney.”

The young girl kept her head down, offering a small wave to the audience.

“And that means we’re down to our final two contestants for the week: Peter Quill and Wanda Maximoff.”

The stage lights swept down to focus on both of them, making it hard to see anything beyond the bright white glow. Wanda stiffened, thoughts already drifting to how embarrassing it would be for her to go home at this point. The silent prayers started in her head, asking anyone who was listening for a chance, just a shot to make it past this round.

“Don’t worry, just smile,” James soothed, but she wasn’t sure if he was trying to soften the blow or assure her. “You’ve got this.”

She nodded, trying to keep up the gracious smile on her face as she closed her eyes. The audience’s eyes seemed to stare right through them, the ringing in Wanda’s ears starting to settle in with the nerves.

“So our final contestant moving ahead to the next round is,” but Luis was somehow incapable of genuine suspense, quickly adding, “Wanda Maximoff.”

The cheers seemed to bleed together with the pounding in her ears, and Wanda’s eyes snapped open at the announcement, looking blankly at James for some sort of explanation. There was no way she’d heard that right. Her hand immediately let go of his arm, like he’d burned her. 

Like she realized she was living in a dream.

“Wanda, go!” James urged through his smile, squeezing her dropped hand to try to shake some sense into her.

Somehow she managed to step herself across the stage, one foot after the other, as she mouthed thanks to the camera lenses. All the while, Wanda tried not to think too hard about the jolt still tingling in her hand where she’d touched him.

It was like static crackling over the skin in her hand with a (real) smile firmly in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there goes Peter! Next chapter, James put his foot (even more) firmly in his mouth.
> 
> See you in two weeks!


	4. Place We Were Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Place We Were Made by: Maisie Peters](https://open.spotify.com/track/0xKGPkn1RLsVifjDs4183v?si=xMo3CtNnR7KDxeCyB5Vx6w).
> 
> Beta'd by the ever-lovely @treaddelicately 💜

Something in Wanda seemed to change the next morning.

It was like she’d had an epiphany in her sleep —the moment she didn’t want to let go of James’s hand replaying over and over again. The helpless feeling that came before it. The fear of losing. 

Last night had been way too close.

And now, Wanda couldn’t just maintain the status quo— not if she wanted something out of this. Not if she wanted to keep herself out of the bottom two. Whatever performance went out on stage could be her last, so she better get used to this machine and figure out how to play the game to the best of her ability.

And as much as the filming process was starting to feel familiar to Wanda —the waking up in a strange place and not having much say in the day’s events, all done for the good of the watching cameras— something about seeing the five of them alone at breakfast the next morning really hit the point home. And it was hard to ignore the way her stomach twisted at the thought of last night. 

Or that she spent the night dreaming of grey-blue eyes, dimly lit in the swell of multicoloured house lights…

The fact of the matter was she could have gone home. She could have been back with Pietro in their studio apartment in Nashville, just trying to get enough bar gigs to make rent. And frankly, nothing terrified Wanda that much before, not when there was so much more just within her reach.

So on their only day off, she spent the day with her guitar, warming up and writing what she could. Listening to more of James’s music— she was starting to get a taste for his earlier stuff— and trying desperately not to overanalyze everything that happened the night before.

That was the internet’s job, after all.

A few knocks at the door, a good morning from Tandy (who rushed through her schedule for the day as they walked), and Wanda was quickly being shuffled to hair and make-up. The only thing she’d managed to catch in the rundown is that she’d be part of a songwriting session today. 

And that alone was enough to set her teeth on edge.

She wasn’t alone in the hair and make-up room, with a make-up artist primping and a woman sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room.

“Approved,” a redhead said without looking up from her phone as the MUA spun Wanda around in the chair. _Natasha_ , she’d only overheard in hushed tones across the set, which told Wanda she was likely high up in the production chain of command.

“Miss Romanoff, we’re ready for you to approve the studio shots?” 

“I guess that’s something the Executive Producer generally does, yes.” The redhead, apparently Natasha _Romanoff_ , begrudgingly lifted herself out of her plush chair and made her way out of the hallway.

The set wasn’t quite ready for Wanda, so with the MUA flitting to the back to sanitize her tools between cast members, Wanda was left alone in a hairdressing chair, staring at herself in the brightly-lit mirror. She barely recognized herself under all the make-up, thankful they’d at least gone for a slightly more natural look. 

But underneath it all, her brain was a bundle of nerves, desperately searching for any sort of inspiration that she could bring to her on-camera session with Bucky. She wasn’t sure if the knot in her stomach was because of the assignment or her partner, and somehow that made her feel even worse.

“You seem a little wound up.”

Natasha Romanoff pulled no punches as she leaned against the doorway of the hair and make-up room, watching Wanda’s expression like a hawk.

“I’ve never written with anyone before,” Wanda admitted, knowing it would be fruitless to try to dance around the subject.

As the show’s Executive Producer, she had a way of getting things out of people, weaselling factoids out of the innocuous small talk and pushing people into verbal corners. And while she may have mostly perched herself behind the scenes during the first two episodes, it seemed that she wanted to be closer to the action for episode three.

“Interesting.”

Or maybe, the less-than-confident part of her brain thought, she had just picked out those who might need more of a ‘ _narrative edge_ ’ —at least, that’s what she’d overheard Tandy mumble under her breath sometime between wake-up and breakfast. A more PC title for what was otherwise known as the tragic backstory they could splash across every television promo.

Wanda held her breath as the stylist returned to give her one final spritz of hairspray, half-waiting for Natasha to try her luck with some targeted question so she’d have more to work with.

“So, what do you think of James?”

Wanda spat the air out of her mouth, sputtering a “What?”

“Your _mentor_. Is he a good fit, do you think?”

And while she didn’t have the physical presence of a camera, she knew whatever came out of her mouth next was absolutely on the record. So, Wanda had a split-second to think about how to look like a gracious contestant _and_ a decent competitor.

“I think he’ll challenge me in ways that will help me grow as a musician,” Wanda said, no lie leaving her lips. There was a beat of silence, and while Wanda should have known better, she fell into the trap of filling it, “Do you think he’s a good fit for me— as a mentor?”

Chewing on her lip at her slip, Wanda eyed the flicker in the corner of Natasha’s mouth. Her poker face was _too_ good.

“I think I have yet to see. It’s early days still.”

Three knocks at the door meant Natasha had somewhere else to be, and Wanda had to follow Tandy back to set. 

Wanda didn’t get a chance to return to her room, heading straight to craft services for a hot meal and a little bit of nervous chatter with the other contestants. It was just after breakfast when the contestants were corralled into a room while Carol Danvers stood on the stage. 

A colourful cast of camera crew and mentors stood off to the side, taking in and counting down the scene. Some of them focussed on reaction shots, while the rest honed in on Carol. 

The chatter lowered to a hum, quieting out into pin-dropping silence with her slight eyebrow raise.

“This week, your task is to write a song from top to bottom,” Carol announced. “From the words to the tune, and you’ll even choose the instrumentation to accompany you, with the help of your mentors.”

Wanda’s stomach gurgled, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t due to hunger. Composing something for herself was one thing, but for a whole band? It seemed so far out of her reach, and she was worried James would see it as just another weakness of hers.

 _Too twangy, too hokey, not polished enough_. The lines seemed to write themselves, all in James’s voice. There was something about the way he looked at her last night that she wanted to see again and again. It was the approval, right? The validation? That was all this was, one musician to another, after all. 

That was all it _could be_. 

Especially with all of these cameras around.

Carol continued, rising about the murmurs popping up across the room, and Wanda caught Daisy and Val’s eyes at another table, “And remember, songs have to come from something real, something that means something. So go out there and make some music.”

There were a few checks from the crew to ensure they had the shots they needed before Wanda was scooped up by Tandy and escorted to the next set. The warm red carpets and shiny instruments met Wanda as she stepped onto her pre-determined mark, a second empty yellow duct-taped ‘x’ just feet away. Yet to be filled by one James Buchanan Barnes.

“Wanda, they’re just going to test the lights and focus, so if you could look here at the camera…”

And if they had told her anything else, Wanda didn’t seem to catch it, ears perking up at the husky voice in her ear.

“Long time no see.”

Her head snapped to see James grinning at her, dressed in a warm-looking flannel, combat boots and beat-up jeans. She wondered off-hand if he’d paid to have them torn up that bad or if he’d done it himself over years of use. But boy, did they fit him in all the right, timeless places—

“Wanda? If you could look over here?”

“Hi!” Wanda managed in a hurried whisper because she turned back to the lens and added with a breathless bark of a laugh, “Sorry!”

The throaty chuckle to her left made her bite her lip to stop herself some emotionally imploding. Since when was she some blushing schoolgirl noticing what the boy next door was wearing.

If only every boy next door looked like James.

“So, today we’re going to start off really easy, maybe lay down some lyrics and some chord progressions. See if you can read that and play it for me.”

James handed her a stack of sheet music, hastily filled out in messy pencil— likely his penmanship.

“Play?”

The bottom seemed to drop out from Wanda’s stomach as her heartbeat picked up. _No_. There was no way _this_ was how she would be embarrassed on national television. She couldn’t help the blush that quickly crossed her face.

“The piano? Or maybe the guitar if you prefer,” James replied, eyebrow crooked as he spoke more to the producer than Wanda.

“I don’t know how to read that,” she breathed, gesturing to the bars and notes on the paper in his hands. “For any instrument.”

Wanda was too ashamed to meet his eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment that was there as he crossed his arms over his chest.

James scoffed, somewhere between confusion and disbelief, “You’ve _never_ read sheet music before? How did you learn to play the guitar?”

“The internet.”

And a lot of hours spent earning the callouses on her fingertips playing the same chords and notes over and over again until they were second nature. Until she could hear them in her sleep.

James made a choking sound in response, no doubt thinking up some great zinger to serve her with next while the cameras were still focussed on his face. After all, who needed a villain edit when you had James Barnes?

“Wanda, can you elaborate a little as to why?” A voice asked from off-camera.

 _Great_ , now this was definitely going to be their tragic storyline. Not that she didn’t expect it to happen at all, more so that she was hoping it wouldn’t happen this soon in the competition.

“I was never classically trained. That was not a luxury we could afford,” Wanda admitted, trying hard to pretend the heat radiating from her face wasn’t already melting off her make-up. “We immigrated when my brother and I were eight; we just didn’t have the money for it. The only thing my parents could afford was a used guitar my father picked up from a coworker.”

Her explanation seemed to catch James off-guard, the veneer slipping slightly as the colour drained from his face. Fingers fidgeting below the camera framing, Wanda could see a flash of that other part of him that the public hadn’t been privy to.

“Your, uh—your parents must be proud.”

“They died when we were eighteen.”

There was a long silence as Wanda blinked back tears at the memory, eyes slowly finding James looking apologetic and clearing his throat. A flicker of something she couldn’t quite read crossed his face as he took a deep breath, and for a moment, just a second, Wanda forgot the lights, boom mic and camera circling around them like vultures. Honing in on the moment.

“I lost my parents too,” James offered quietly. “But I like to think their memories live on in my music, in their own little way.”

Wanda was taken aback by the comment, struggling to hold contact with those steel grey eyes that seemed to look _into_ her, not just at her.

Wanda’s throat went tight as she struggled to say the only thing that came to mind, “That’s a nice thought.”

“And as for the sheet music, it’s no big deal. We’ll go over it together,” James offered, though she wasn’t sure how much of it was just for the show of it.

There was a dull clack in the background as the lights switched off, breaking Wanda out of her staring contest with James. A make-up artist quietly passed Wanda a tissue so she could carefully blot at her lashes, offering her a sympathetic look as she lightly powdered under her eyes.

“That’s a wrap on pre-roll, ten minutes to dress the set for piano b-roll,” the production assistant announced off-camera. “The room’s all yours as we set up, Barnes.”

Suddenly, it was just the two of them alone, as the crew dispersed to take five before they reset all the shots for the next contestant. Wanda was expecting him to ignore her and catch up on his phone. Maybe rub it in a little more. Or perhaps he was more like Natasha than she realized, and he was already pumping her for information and potential storylines.

But something about the way his almost-blue eyes stared at her, with that dopey, lopsided smile didn’t let her believe that.

“Hey, I uh,” James scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground, eyes dropping down to the ground as soon as they’d caught hers. “I wanted to apologize for bringing that up. I didn’t mean for it to sound that harsh.”

She almost reached up to catch her jaw, brows furrowed as she tried to piece together whether she’d heard him right, “Uh. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

 _I understand it’s just TV,_ Wanda almost offered, but she didn’t want to entirely excuse it. Not if he was sincere.

“No. No excuses. I know… I _should_ know that not everyone has the luxury of being taught music. And I… I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” James added.

And before Wanda could say anything, the crew was starting to flow back into the studio space, calling out from the door, “Can we get you two sitting on the piano bench for the next shot? We’re going to set up framing, so you can just hang out.”

James took the lower register, patting the spot beside him on the piano bench as Wanda tried not to stare. It was _fine_. Sure, they’d be sitting side-by-side, inches away from each other. And yes, maybe had just completely embarrassed herself on national television. But she could do this— not make a fool of herself, that was. Not look like some high school girl with a silly crush.

She was an adult, a _professional_ , and right now, this was her job.

“I don’t bite,” he said a little singsong when she didn’t immediately sit beside him.

Gulping away the idea of that very particular visual, Wanda slid herself onto the bench, trying to keep a respectful distance, so they weren’t brushing at the hip.

“That’s great. We should be rolling in a few.”

It was easy to ignore the shift of wires and cables, the PAs’ footfalls as they moved the camera and lighting equipment to accommodate the new setup.

“Well, since we’re here, we might as well give you an education,” James said with a bit of a lilt. “Give me your hand.”

“My what?”

“Your hand. You know, what you generally play the piano with?”

Wanda skeptically held out her right hand. James held onto her thumb, guiding it across the black and ivory expanse.

“This is middle C,” he said quietly as he dropped it on a key and it sung into the room. “Then, D, E, F, G,” he added, pressing each of her fingers into the following keys to create a scale.

Something about the simple action sent her face aflame, especially with how close they were now that she’d turned to face him on the bench. James didn’t have to ask for her other hand when he was done with her right. Wanda picked up on his open palm, dropping her left hand into his grasp as he showed her B, A, G, and F.

“You’ve got it,” James encouraged with a smile before explaining how the sheet music worked. He wrote detailed notes in the margins, outlining where each of the notes fell on the scale, quickly breaking down a few chords note-by-note.

And time seemed to melt away around them, the crew quickly returning to set and starting them over from the beginning, get b-roll of Wanda doing basic scales (without James’s physical assistance this time). They quickly moved onto the lyrics side of things, James looking curiously at the only thing she was allowed to bring with her from her room.

“Let me hear what you’ve got.”

Wanda pulled out a piece of notebook paper, torn out this morning, as she fussed over the words. It felt like she was exposing a part of herself that no one else had seen. Pietro sometimes got pieces, but she never liked people hearing her work until it was finished.

It felt a little too raw. 

But if this was how she was going to grow as a musician, Wanda was all in. She had to be.

Setting the paper on the stand at the piano, she tried not to let James’s wandering eyes get to her, drifting across the form as he waited for her to start. One big breath and Wanda sang, “ _Saturday night, living the dream. Ordering drinks with your brother’s ID. Pretending we like someone’s girlfriend’s band_ ”

By the next set of lines, James’s hands seemed to move on their own, building out some basic background chords. His eyes slid between the sheet of paper and Wanda herself, switching to individual notes once he got a handle of the tune.

“ _Put on our boots, carry our heels. Stumbling home over the field. Gin from a bottle stolen from her dad._ ”

She could see James’s lips lift at the lines, watching her from the corner of his eyes as she moved into the bridge.

“ _You smoke to choke the feeling, ’til the walls don’t need the ceiling. All we talk about is leaving._ ”

And this time, Wanda tried her hand at a simple chord progression, trying to transpose the guitar chords she’d written in the margins to the piano. She slipped on a few keys, James reaching over to adjust her hand placement before she found her footing.

“ _All that I know is, no matter how far away, this is the place we were made. I know every streetlight, and maybe the colours will fade. This is the place we were made._ ”

Wanda pulled away, snapping out of the moment as James stopped and stared at her. The cameras were off, might have been for a few minutes by then, and that look returned to his face. Admiration? Pride? She couldn’t quite place it.

But her heart seemed to swell with the simple words he offered before the production cleared the set.

“I think we can work with that.”

* * *

The next few days were just back-to-back sessions on and off-camera with James. They covered everything from vocal warm-ups to sheet music and even how to appear more confident in performing. Or, as James called it, ‘owning a stage.’

They talked a little about where her music came from, the stories behind some of the lyrics she’d scribbled in her notebook— things she’d never shared with anyone but Pietro.

She couldn’t help but notice just how different he was in those private moments, without the stage lights and the production crew behind cameras. When they’d lie back on the fluffy carpet to coax her into singing from her diaphragm, and she tried not to think about how close his hand was to hers on the floor.

“You know, I’m not _really_ an asshole,” James said softly at the end of their last session before her performance, as if assuring her. “I just play one on TV.”

Wanda smiled, not about to let him off that easy, “I think that’s what all the actual assholes all say, Mr. Barnes.”

He was fiddling with a drumset in the back corner, looking deep in thought as he played back what they had of the song so far with a nearby speaker. She could have watched him all day, muttering to himself about the snare or the cymbal, wondering how heavy the crescendo in the second-last bridge should carry.

“How did you learn to play all of these instruments?” Wanda asked with a little awe in her tone.

He shot her a lopsided smile. 

“You pick things up on the road. Oh, _shit_! The time,” James hissed, checking his watch. “I’ve got to get you to hair and make-up. Nat’s going to have my ass.”

She tried not to think too hard about the fact he was on a first-name basis with the woman running this whole thing, instead, letting him guide her back through set, hearing some synth-heavy music floating up from the stage while she was rushing through hair, make-up and wardrobe.

At least she wasn’t late.

“You’re going to do great, OK? I’m giving the band our last few notes,” his hand fell to her shoulder, giving a light squeeze as they looked at each other through the lightbulb-framed mirror.

“James?” she called out as he went to leave.

“Yeah?”

And as much as Wanda wished she could say more, she settled on a very lame, “Thanks.” Watching his head bob, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he hurried away from the clouds of hairspray.

She was a little less jittery this time, a little more comfortable in her approved outfit and make-up. Maybe she was overconfident, maybe she _should_ have been nervous, but something about knowing James approved of this song of theirs, going as far to say he was _impressed_ with her, made the self-doubt melt away.

“Is that a keytar?” Wanda whispered to herself with an impressed chuckle as she peered through the curtains at the side of the stage. 

She watched Deke Shaw swim in a sea of multicoloured strobe lights. 

And yes, it definitely was a keytar.

Say what you would about Deke, but he definitely knew how to command a stage, strutting up and down the center aisle like he was in the middle of a stadium tour. Wanda offered a quiet “Great job” to him as they passed each other off-stage.

It was then that she noticed James sitting behind the piano on stage, shooting her a wink as she took her spot in the center of the stage. The judges and the audience faded away as Wanda performed straight to the camera, slipping in playful smiles to the early verses.

“ _All that I know is, no matter how far away, this is the place we were made. I know every streetlight, and maybe the colours will fade. This is the place we were made by the late nights and fires on the beach, made by the small-town secrets we’d keep._ ”

Wanda couldn’t help but look back to James, offering a sly smile as she finished off the last bit. 

“ _All that I know is, no matter how far away, this is the place we were made._ ”

The lights dimmed, and Wanda and James were shuffled off to opposite ends of backstage without a word. Wanda’s eyes were glued to the monitor as Daisy was the last to perform. And then they were corralled back to the stage, lined up on the far end.

Eyes closed, waiting for a name. _Their_ name.

Her eyes shot open as they called it— the first of the night. She huffed out the breath she’d been holding and smiled for the camera. But after the thrill of her on-camera performance, Wanda felt a little naked standing up there, crossing the stage without James. 

But she waved to the audience all the same, thankful to be seeing another week.

Looking back over her shoulder she could see James’s smiling face projected on the stage’s screen, streaming live from somewhere backstage. There was a hint of something there. It was that look again.

And seeing it that big and up close, she knew that it was definitely pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got a soft piano moment! I, personally, have been dying for one of those.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. See you all in two weeks for the next chapter!


	5. Fire N Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovingly beta'd by the always amazing @treaddelicately.
> 
> This chapter's song is [Fire N Gold by Bea Miller](https://open.spotify.com/track/7xAdO0zdl7lGf0ecg4IGhQ?si=B91Qa9GCQlSwYmmPIxRcFw).

“So, how does it feel to be in the top four?”

Wanda tried to hold back the nervous chuckle lodged in her throat, looking just off-camera to the production assistant in charge of asking. A voice in the back of her head reminded her to parrot back some form of the question in the answer, so it took her a beat too long to respond, face flushed as she tried to play it off as bashful.

“It’s just _surreal_ to think I’m in the top four. I didn’t really think I’d get this far, honestly.”

She didn’t exactly expect to be able to rub Peter Quill’s words in his face as she crossed the stage that night. And, sure, maybe back in Nashville, she and Pietro only used to speak about this point in the competition in hushed tones, like they were talking about some far-off world in another universe. But the closer Wanda got to the finish line of the competition, the more she realized she could really do it. 

That could really be her walking out of here with a record deal and an album half-way through production.

“And James…”

Wanda could barely hear the PA flip through her notes as she paused on the name, heart already beating in her ears. She tried not to think too hard about why exactly every on-camera mention of James elicited this reaction, but she started to feel like the entire production staff already knew the answer. 

It was getting harder to keep the natural-looking smile on her face in between answers— which _definitely_ had nothing to do with the impending subject matter.

“Any regrets about getting James as your mentor? Any concerns or falling outs, disagreements? Things you would have done differently if you end up going home this week?”

Wanda licked her lips, taking a deep breath to think about it.

“James is the best mentor I could have asked for, and even if I go home tonight, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Putting her best smile to the camera, she decided to stick to the truth.

* * *

“How’d it go?”

Wanda almost jumped at the voice, not really expecting anyone besides Tandy on her way out the door. But it was James waiting for Wanda off-stage, carrying two cups of coffee and some loose sheets of music paper under his arm.

With a nervous laugh and her hand over her heart, Wanda smiled.

“It was fine, I think. I feel like they lean more towards psychology than journalism sometimes.”

James chuckled, “Yeah, they definitely play head games. Part of the ‘TV magic,’ I hear.”

They breezed past the production and tech teams in the hall, setting up shots and interviews with other contestants. They eventually turned the corner into the studio area, blissfully quiet and away from the buzz of crew. As Wanda closed the door behind them with a bump of her hip, James was already setting himself down on the piano bench, cracking his fingers.

“What do you have for me today, little song witch?”

He’d been teasing her the day before about how lyrics used to flow out of her like magic, so the blush rising to her cheeks was just a product of that teasing. _Perfectly_ natural.

“Just that one from yesterday. I wanted to finalize it for tonight.”

This was their new normal. Their hips brushing on that bench. Wanda sinking into the warmth of his side as he walked her through progression. The way her chin fit into the crook of his neck, watching him point out notes and variations on the sheet music in front of them. It was nice, him watching her from the corner of his eye as they worked. And Wanda knew she’d do just about anything to elicit that look he’d had on his face last elimination.

That pride and warmth that emanated from him.

Now that the competition was down to the songwriting portion, James and Wanda had been spending a lot of time together writing, on and off camera. James had been letting her do most of the driving, chiming in on gut checks or when her fingers faltered over piano keys. Trying to bring her out of her own head when she hesitated on a note or drifted off into a mumble as she adjusted lyrics.

Still, he was always trying to push her out of her acoustic comfort zone in favour of a fuller sound, sometimes hopping over to the drums or the bass to fill out her riffs or explore a slightly different tone.

And every night she’d gotten back to her room, bursting from the seams with inspiration and half-formed lyrics dancing through her head. All those words she’d hidden away, chalked up to a “never could be” or just plain fear, just pouring out of her in those early morning hours.

There were quite a few she would probably never show him. Ones that were too raw or too frank or left her too exposed.

James hummed thoughtfully, “Mm, so that’s your final answer?”

Wanda nodded, “Think so.”

“Alright. From the top.”

“ _Like an astronaut that’s scared of heights, with a heart that’s beating at the speed of light. You’ve been waiting for this feeling all your life. Sometimes it’s just hard to realize._ ”

Her eyes drifted over to James, looking for any twitch or reaction as she sang. This was one of the safer options, but it still felt like her heart was in her throat. Wanda hoped that one day, in the not so distant future, it wouldn’t feel like she was laying herself bare every time she showed him a song. 

She also hoped this wouldn’t be the last time they’d be in this room writing together, but nothing was guaranteed at this point in this competition.

“ _When you’re stuck in a moment, and your spark is disowning, this is our time to own it. So own it._ ”

James’s eyes dropped down to the keys as he murmured to her, “Watch that upper register when we move into the chorus.” 

Wanda nodded as she flipped the sheet music. Not that he needed it; his muscle memory was unlike anything she’d ever seen before, easily memorizing a half dozen songs they’d been playing with all week after just a play-through.

But his fingers sparked across the keys, seemingly moving all on their own as she tried to tamp down her amazement.

“ _Baby, we were born with fire and gold in our eyes, eyes. With fire and gold in our eyes, eyes. Got lightning in a bottle, hands on the throttle. Even in the dust, we shine with fire and gold in our eyes._ ”

James held the last note, letting it drift off into the room as he smiled at her.

“Better.”

It was hours later when he walked Wanda to her room— which wasn’t exactly kosher but had become the new norm. While the contestants were sequestered from each other at this point— no overlaps at soundcheck or gatherings backstage —Tandy had found Wanda and James out in front of the door, more than once in the last week. 

His hand was always planted on the wall just above her shoulder as they talked in the hallway in hushed tones. And Wanda tried not to notice just how close he was when he leaned in until she was looking up at him through her eyelashes. But she did catch the warm smile on Tandy’s face as she saw them, half-heartedly chiding them and shooing James away with a sharp, “Scoot!”

By the look of the empty hallway, they probably had a good ten minutes at least before she caught up with them. So, for now, he’d lean against her doorway and talk to her from the hall as she set her notebook and pencil down on her desk.

“You sure you want to go with this one tonight?” James asked, voice dipping low as he watched for her reaction. “This could be a good option for the finale if you want to hold onto it.”

That would assume she’d be there next week, Wanda realized, biting her lip.

It was no secret that he knew she had to play the game, with some of his suggestions coming in the form of strategy. And _she_ knew that he had a game to play too. That hard-ass persona he slipped into when the cameras were on them.

But the cameras didn’t see the late-night burgers snuck in from the outside world or the 2AM piano session in the jam room… Never mind them sharing a joint on the rooftop, watching the world she was sequestered from pass them by with all the telltale lights and sounds.

But something inside Wanda knew it didn’t feel right as her final song. It had kept her up all night the day before, tossing and turning and calculating the odds of which of her songs would stand out just enough to get her to the finale.

And then… and then she’d have to figure out her next performance. The lyrics were already etched in black ink in her notebook. The question was whether she’d have the nerve to sing them.

“I’m sure,” Wanda said. “I have an idea for next week. I promise.”

James was about to reply when another voice shot down the hallway like a bullet.

“Don’t make me call you by your full name in front of the rest of the crew, Bucky boy,” Tandy chided in a singsong voice. “You _know_ you’ll never hear the end of it if I do.”

James raised his hands in surrender with a flash of teeth, “I’m going, I’m going. Good luck defending her honour and virtue or whatever else they pay you for.”

With a snort and a glare, Tandy reached out to grab the handle of Wanda’s door.

“Goodnight.”

* * *

Wanda jolted awake to a knock on the door, finding herself (and a less than desirable pile of drool) passed out across the desk in her room. 

Great, she realized as she checked the mirror by the door, she had the imprint of her notebook on her forehead. Rubbing at the harsh line in her skin only yielded an angrier result, and Wanda groaned as she pulled open the door to find a much too cheery Tandy.

“Did you get _any_ sleep?” she griped as the smile slid off her face. With a sigh, she pushed a cup of coffee into Wanda’s hand and closed the door behind her, “Alright, let’s get you ready.”

This wasn’t her first rodeo basically peeling Wanda off of her notes for morning shoots, but Tandy did look a little smugger than usual as she gathered up Wanda’s binder full of loose sheet music and ushered her down the hall into hair and makeup.

Wanda didn’t usually talk much in those earlier filming sessions, still trying to find her voice as the stylists got the outfits and makeup approved for camera. She was finishing her coffee just before the hairstylist unplugged her heating tools, but she spotted the familiar face in the mirror before the rap came at the door and someone poked their head in.

“Knock, knock.”

Swivelling around in her chair, Wanda’s brows knit together, “Hi?”

She wasn’t so much confused by the crew that stood over his right shoulder, setting up a camera, boom mic and portable lighting. The kind used for walkabouts. But their lead…

“Uh, sorry, today we’re shooting soundcheck, and each of the contestants will be getting second opinions from different mentors on their chosen song ahead of the performance. I’m Stephen, by the way. Stephen Strange,” he held out his hand, whispery white tattoos trailing from his fingertips up to his wrists that Wanda’s eyes were immediately drawn to. 

Runes, she remembered from an interview she’d seen months ago now. Stephen’s branding was very mystical meets vampire, with dark hair, pale skin and a hint of eyeliner. The one silvery strip of hair just off-center really completed the look.

“I, uh, I know,” Wanda covered her fumble with a chuckle, praying her makeup covered the flush rising to her cheeks as she shook his hand. “I’m a fan. Wanda Maximoff.”

“Well, hopefully, that’ll make this whole thing a little less awkward, Wanda,” he smiled, nudging his chin towards the camera operator behind him. “Ready to show me what you’re working on?”

“Absolutely.”

She tried to put on her most confident voice as she led him to the stage, watching as the band counted them all in. But this just felt unnatural, being assessed from the sidelines, tracking his movement from side-stage to the camera pit as she rehearsed.

“ _There is something different about you and I (about you and I), and I feel like I have known you my whole life. There is beauty behind every tear you’ve cried, sometimes it’s just hard to realize_.”

Wanda couldn’t read Stephen like she could James, and it wasn’t long before she realized the friendly look he’d offered in hair and makeup had slipped away as the camera turned on. He was all severe looks and bored expressions and started to make her feel a little like Shuri had in her audition. 

“ _When you’re stuck in a moment, and your spark has been stolen, this is our time to own it. So own it._ ”

But she tried to continue, putting everything she had into owning the stage and trying to exude that inner comfort James had been teaching her to find.

“ _Baby, we were born with fire and gold in our eyes, eyes. With fire and gold in our eyes, eyes_ ”

With a raise of his hand, Stephen stopped the band from the seat he’d plopped himself into in the audience. Wanda pulled out her in-ears and stared at him expectantly, wondering just how she’d messed up this early into the rehearsal.

“I just can’t feel you from here,” Stephen started, standing up from the seat. “When you’re performing, you need to make every single person in the audience feel like it’s magic, and from here, you just look like that scared little girl in audition week.”

The lump in her throat felt like a weight at his words, wondering whether this was just for show or an accurate indication of just how in over her head she was. She knew that she wouldn’t always have the luxury of having someone on her side in this business. There would always be people telling her she couldn’t do it or she wasn’t anything special, but she couldn’t just accept it as fact.

Pushing back the tears, Wanda swallowed her pride and nodded, “More movement, or?”

Stephen shook his head, frowning slightly, “More passion. If you make it past this week, you’re going to need to pull out something deep. We haven’t seen that yet in a song from you. Sure, you want to win, I get that, but who are you?”

Wanda offered a dim on-camera nod, knowing that as hard as they were to hear, she had to find a way to use his words. To be open to criticism and learn to grow.

Wanda just wished it didn’t have to hurt this much and feel _this_ personal.

By the time the film lights turned off, and Stephen left the auditorium, Wanda was already exhausted. Her brain kept cycling between James’s encouraging words and Stephen’s teardown, in the closest thing she’d ever had to mental whiplash.

She got that art was subjective, but how could their reviews be that different? Was it because he didn’t have a baseline? Didn’t see where the song had come from? Or did James see something in her that no one else did? 

If Wanda sat and thought about it any longer, she was going to psyche herself out. 

Were they just trying to psyche her out?

Somehow she managed to eat half a plate of food, dutifully heeding Tandy’s warning even though eating alone was getting to be depressing. The producers were really trying to drive a wedge between the finalists with the dwindling numbers, not allowing them to eat together or chat.

Hoping one of them would break in front of the stage lights— or better yet, bring out a competitive side in some of the quieter contestants.

Again with the strategy and the worrying— Wanda tried to shove it to the back of her mind, walking herself through the song and the visual cues instead. She was practically buzzing through touch-ups and the pre-interviews, pacing in her green room when the knock finally sounded.

“You ready?” Tandy asked, staring down at her with nerves Wanda hadn’t seen in her before. And unlike any other night before this, Tandy squeezed Wanda’s hand and whispered a “Good luck” before she walked out on stage.

Luis was just announcing her intro as she stepped into the centerstage marker.

“This is Wanda Maximoff with Fire N Gold.”

The house lights focussed on her, the percussion leading her into the first verse. Somewhere inside, she tried to picture it was her James on the other side of the camera like she was putting on a show for an audience of one in that practice room she’d sung in dozens of times by now.

It was hard to keep the smile off her face and out of her voice as she got to the chorus.

“ _Got lightning in a bottle, hands on the throttle. Even in the dust, we shine with fire and gold in our eyes._ ”

Eye contact, breathing, and tone were just three of the things Wanda tried to juggle throughout the song. James’s words, Stephen’s warning and every doubt she’d ever had were fighting for dominance as she tried to hit her marks on stage.

The lights dimmed just as she got to the final bridge.

“ _There is love inside this madness. We are walking on the moon. Though I don’t believe in magic, I believe in me and you. Ooh, ooh._ ”

It was during the last chorus that Wanda could finally stop to see the crowd, see the smiles on even the judges’ faces, and she started to settle. Even the typically stone-faced Shuri was tapping along to the beat, looking over to whisper something in Carol’s ear as she rounded out the song.

And if it had stopped there, if she had walked off stage and gone back to the usual show routine, Wanda would have felt really good about her performance. Confident, even.

But, show business is never that cut and dry and that night, as the four remaining contestants stood on stage in front of the judges, Luis started the elimination off a little differently.

“Tonight, the judges have let me in on a little secret that I guess I’ll let all of you in on too—”

He left just enough time for the audience to murmur amongst themselves, the hushed whispers and chatter buzzing around the auditorium.

“Instead of one of our contestants going home tonight, we have a very special double elimination.”

The audience’s collective gasp could be heard from the stage, even over her in-ear, as Wanda’s hand clenched into a fist. There was no James beside her anymore to hold her hand; all four of them lined up in a little row on one side of the stage. 

And suddenly, this felt very, very real.

That dreaded elimination theme played as the lights dimmed, leaving a solitary moving spotlight roaming the stage as if it was seeking out its next prey.

“Laura Kinney,” Luis started, squinting at the card in his hands and every cast member on stage froze in place, eyes locked on Laura. “Unfortunately, you’re the first to go home tonight.”

An echo of groans and boos pattered around the room, culminating at polite clapping as they asked her a quick exit question. Wanda didn’t hear the details, brain too busy calculating her odds with the remaining two. 

But Daisy, the only one she was standing beside at the end of the line-up, took that moment to turn to her, tilting her head just out of camera view as she whispered in her ear, “Hey, no matter what happens tonight, don’t lose my number, OK?”

It sounded like a goodbye if she’d ever heard one, but Wanda wasn’t sure if she was expecting herself or the other to be the one heading home.

“Deal,” Wanda whispered back, shooting her a shaky but grateful smile.

Daisy quickly grasped her hand, giving a squeeze as she nodded to head at a watchful Val, with the same sentiments implied.

“Wanda Maximoff,” Luis started, and her stomach lurched under the white light. 

Wanda managed a nervous smile to her Val and Daisy, and a nod, which had they translated would have roughly stated ‘it was nice to have known you.’

After all, Wanda was going home.

But the words that came out of Luis’s mouth next felt more like a dream than reality.

“You have made it to the next round, congratulations!”

Wanda’s mouth dropped open, hands flying to cover it.

In all the time she had daydreamed about being on Instant Star, Wanda had never been the type to picture herself crying grateful tears on national television.

Maybe pageant queens did, or the types of people who won Oscars or Grammys— but Wanda Maximoff wasn’t one of them, yet here she was, sobbing (hopefully not ugly) tears in front of the camera tracking her every movement as she crossing the stage.

The clapping and the roar of the crowd drowned out James’s cheers from side-stage, or Daisy’s hand squeeze and proud, “I knew it!” But hand over her mouth, Wanda shakily met the marker across the stage as Luis reached for his next cue card and returned to the last two standing.

“Val, Daisy, there’s only one name written on this card that will be coming back next week for the finale of _Instant Star_.”

Luis had either worked on his suspenseful delivery or was having difficulty reading the text printed on the card in the dim lighting, but for once, there was a pregnant pause.

“And Daisy,” Luis started, “that name is yours.”

“It’s Wanda vs. Daisy in the finale, so tune in next week to see which of these songstresses will be crowned your next Instant Star!”

Wanda and Daisy had each other’s hands in a vice grip as the camera swept across them for one last round of b-roll before they were swept to the opposite ends of backstage. The world around her seemed to reduce itself to hums and buzzes, watching as the faceless people around her flapped their lips, but not really making out the words.

But one voice broke through the noise, with a soft hand at the small of her back.

“Knew you’d hit it out of the park with that one, Wan.” 

Her head snapped to the voice, finding James Barnes’s mouth just inches from her ear, hand moving to her waist as he led her just out of the fray of teardown crew and camera operators. Something about it felt so natural that she almost didn’t notice the stare from Tandy and Ms. Romanoff looking on just a few feet away. Wanda was too eager to lean into the touch and stare into those stormy blue eyes she was starting to dream about.

She wasn’t sure if she read his lips or actually heard it in his voice, but either way, James’s words were the last she really paid attention to, the five words her newfound mantra.

“You’re going to win this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be the finale of the show (not this series). Plenty more to come once the competition is over. Trust me, we’re just getting started.
> 
> See you in two weeks!


	6. We're Not Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovingly beta'd by the light of my life, @treadelicately.
> 
> This chapter's song is [We're Not Friends by Ingrid Andress](https://open.spotify.com/track/5rwrtdf4pjvaE96LiZ85KB?si=XzvGEEnZRJyf1rjcJQAong)

Wanda tossed and turned that night, worrying that she’d missed an alarm— or worse yet, _wake up_.

And not in the hotel room, still sequestered from the world and wondering if last night really happened, but back in her Nashville studio apartment. To the smell of shitty coffee brewing, the sounds of Pietro cursing, having inevitably slept in and almost missed his shift at the local cafe.

Not _this_. Not staring at the ceiling and trying to snap herself out of her current existential crisis.

She pinched her arm and rubbed her fingers over the bedspread, eyes still half-closed from sleep like she was proving to herself it wasn’t just an illusion.

“Wanda? You ready?”

The knock and the call through her door were convincing enough, reminding her she was up at this ungodly hour for a reason. Today was her final style session before the big week ahead— otherwise known as the ugly duckling to swan transformation to be revealed on the finale.

And apparently, it was going to take _a lot_ of work to get Wanda completely camera ready.

“Coming!” she called back, flinging off the covers and slipping into some casual clothes.

Ripped jeans, a thrifted shirt and Pietro’s sweater. It was basically her uniform when she wasn’t in front of a camera and stage lights. 

Wanda was rushed off to a local salon for a full day of dye, exfoliation and grooming. Running a brush through her mousy brown hair before rushing out of the room, she said a silent prayer to the aesthetic gods and hoped she didn’t end up walking out of the session not being able to recognize herself.

But that was the risk she’d taken in signing up to be on TV at all, she supposed.

Daisy would be at another location, she overheard from a resident PA, which only served to unnerve Wanda more when she spotted a familiar mop of red hair watching over her from a nearby chair. But Natasha waited until the stylist was in the backroom before approaching, hands holding onto the chair just behind both her shoulder blades as she stared her down through the mirror.

“How do you feel about going red, Wanda?”

Natasha’s fingers were running through her never dyed hair, loosely waved and a little frizzy from having been slept on. She could barely remember washing the mass of hairspray out of it last night, eyes already closing by the time she made it back to her room after the post-interviews.

Wanda cleared her throat, swearing she misheard Natasha, “Red?”

“Mm, maybe lighten your hair a bit? Some extensions?” she asked, lifting pieces of her hair towards the light as she examined it. “A keratin treatment, maybe smooth it out a little…”

Now, Wanda knew better than anyone that Natasha wasn’t really asking. She had been in Romanoff’s trap as soon as she stepped foot in the salon. No, Natasha was just gauging her response, wondering how to work it into the colourful narrative she’d been crafting behind the scenes, no doubt.

“Will it look like your hair?” Wanda asked, eyes flicking up to watch the other woman’s expression.

She wasn’t exactly against the idea. It might make her more memorable, setting her apart from the purple-streaked Daisy Johnson. After all, this was less about her identity and more about her branding, and as much as she was still trying to figure out the ins and out of the industry, Wanda knew that.

But Natasha tsked, an unwavering smile firmly on her face, “No, _my_ red is quite specific. Often attempted, rarely replicated. Like the best of things in life. No, yours would be more like a bright fire— like a phoenix, maybe.”

Wanda could have sworn she winked before settling back down in the chair across the room and hiding behind a magazine. 

Wanda hadn’t seen anything in print (or TV, or even the internet) during her time filming, so she was a little curious about a rare glimpse at the outside world, sneaking peeks at Natasha through the mirror. On further inspection of the scene behind her, there was something about the cover that caught her eye. A familiar name emblazoned in highlighter-yellow text on the cover pasted on top of what looked like a man trying hard to avoid the camera. It took her a second to translate the text, flipping the reflection in her head. 

‘ _Bachelor Bucky on the prowl?_ ’

She squinted, trying to make out the sub-header but couldn’t get past what she guessed read ‘ _Spotted at LA nightclub_ ’ emblazoned over top of a paparazzi photo of him. Wanda would have tried to get a closer look, but Natasha was pulled away by an assistant, and the magazine was tucked away before she could focus on it.

Not that it was really any of her business. _She_ was the one who was supposed to be on a media black-out, not the judges or the crew or even the mentors. 

And US Weekly wasn’t above board as far as the rumour mill was concerned.

And James Barnes was more than free to go to nightclubs. He was an adult who wasn’t legally locked down in the middle of a competition.

But none of these logical conclusions helped the twisting feeling in the pit of her stomach as the hairstylist walked over with a tray of scissors and clips, a little too much excitement twinkling in their eyes.

“Ready?” she asked, offering a snip for show.

Wanda pasted on her most convincing smile and nodded, “As I’ll ever be.”

* * *

Eight hours.

Wanda Maximoff had been trapped between the painfully modern salon walls for eight consecutive hours, eating Thai food out of styrofoam containers between treatments and trying to sneak more peeks at Natasha’s array of magazine covers. 

The sun was low in the sky by the time she got back to her room, exfoliated and pampered and thoroughly exhausted after keeping her best contestant face on all day. But looking in the mirror, it just looked off— like a little girl playing dress-up. There was a moment where she wondered if it was _her_. The sleek, coiffed ginger hair just looked out of place with her worn and ripped outfit.

Like a paper doll dressed in the wrong outfit.

The longer she looked, the more her head hurt, the more she felt like another cog in the reality TV machine. Were they counting on this? That this would be the thing to take her out of her element and eyes off the prize?

Maybe the lack of sleep was starting to get to her.

Between that and Natasha lurking in the background of her day, watching the stylists like a hawk, Wanda’s head was heavy with thought as she went to bed that night.

* * *

Maybe her brain unconsciously tucked it away during her dreams, or maybe all she needed _was_ a little rest, but by the time she woke up the next morning, Wanda Maximoff was ready to take on the world. Which was good because it felt like the prep for the final episode was more like three weeks’ worth of press, interviews and rehearsals shoved into five very short days.

And while she’d never tell James or Tandy as much, it had taken her an hour that morning to settle on an outfit, waffling between trying out some of her new TV wardrobe or her usual gear. Should she play the part they’d assigned her off-screen? Get comfortable in this new skin? 

But eventually, Wanda settled on her standard fare, secretly wondering if he’d say anything. She worried even the hair change might be a step too far out of her comfort zone.

Whatever nervousness Wanda had at the salon was quelled in that first rehearsal back, locked firmly in the surprised look James offered her as soon as she stepped in. 

“Woah,” he breathed with a smile, looking like he was frozen in his tracks. There was that sparkle in his blue eyes as he took her in, head snapping to the studio number plate on the door before focusing back on her. “You sure I got the right room, or?”

Wanda swatted his arm with her sheet music, sure he was playing with her.

“Stop teasing.”

James shook his head, unable to fight the grin off his face, “No teasing here, doll. You look amazing.”

She was too close to a blush as he eyed her up and down, and something inside her softened, knowing he didn’t think it was too much or too trendy or not _her_. 

Though, she wasn’t sure exactly why his opinion seemed to matter to her more than her own.

“Thank you,” Wanda offered bashfully, his words seemingly hanging in the air. Feeling a little restless at the added attention, she tried to get them back on track, “Um, music?”

He held her gaze a second too long, but she’d never call him on it. After all, she was too busy enjoying the view herself.

“Right. Music.”

* * *

It was a few days later when their scheduled studio session devolved into Bucky breaking out an acoustic guitar, cross-legged on the floor. He noodled through some progressions Wanda was testing against lyrics she refused to show him. 

But James, in his James sort of way, was getting stubborn about it, trying to sneak peeks over her shoulder at her notes as she attempted to track the tune on paper.

“Stop that!” Wanda giggled, shoving his shoulder with her own before leaning back onto the floor. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

In truth, she was way too embarrassed to show him what she’d been working on this week, worried the tight quarters might make it too awkward if she wasn’t careful. It was easily one of the rawest songs she’d written during her time here.

But she also needed to do this for herself. To prove to herself, Strange, and others like him that she could. That she had the _passion_ to be here and win this without the help of someone who’d written platinum records before.

Something about the giggly excitement and nerves crackling in the air made that session ripe for sharing secrets.

It felt what she always imagined a sleepover was like. Just the plush carpet, the room lined with instruments and them. This recording booth confessional, laid side-by-side on the rug like they’d done for weeks before.

Tonight just felt different for some reason.

Maybe the wall between them was a little thinner now, a little more inviting, and a little closer to earth as they neared the finish line. Maybe it was all those hours he’d spent just watching her, arm around her waist as she tinkered at the piano. And maybe that’s why the question that had been on her mind since that first episode seemed to fall from her lips without much thought.

“Can I ask you something?” Wanda started, turning her head to watch him through carpet fibres.

James hummed, before offering a noncommittal, “Anything.”

With a deep breath and eyes on the ceiling, Wanda tried to sound curious instead of nosy. Was there a difference?

“Why did you decide to come on this show?”

Listening to the words in her own voice made her cringe, realizing how harsh that could have sounded. It was all she could think about after catching a whiff of the headlines she’d managed to peek at during filming a couple of days ago. It was no secret that James was famous in his own right; he could probably be doing a lot of things more highbrow than a reality TV cast member.

But James didn’t seem to take offence, huffing a laugh as he leaned on his forearm to face her.

“Honestly? My agent thought it would be good publicity.”

“Your _agent_ …” the word tasted foreign on Wanda’s lips, and she couldn’t help the deflation peeking through her tone. The word seemed too easy for him, like he couldn’t imagine life without one, while Wanda was still trying to figure out what it meant that she would soon need one.

“Well, my label wanted to see if there was any interest in trying to get the band back together for a reunion tour,” James explained, tone gravelly. “Nostalgia and all that. Makes for good marketing or whatever.”

“ _Oh._ ”

Wanda’s thoughts swirled around her, blurring the rest of the room until all she could see was James’s clear grey eyes. 

She was already working the admittance out to its logical conclusion, that this was just a stepping stone for both of them. _A career move_. That cold, methodical term that meant as soon as this show wrapped, he’d be off on some whirlwind tour, headlining venues Wanda wouldn’t see the inside of as any but a guest for at least a few years.

Lights. Camera. Cut.

“But joke’s on them,” Bucky said, humourless laugh cutting through Wanda’s spiral. “I don’t think Steve would ever agree to it. Never mind the rest of them. I was the only one who wanted to stay close to the city.”

Relief couldn’t begin to explain the sensation coursing through Wanda at the misunderstanding. The weight had been lifted off her chest, and for a beat, she felt guilty. Guilty for occupying his time, for _expecting_ it, long after the cameras had left and they were no longer putting on a show.

Maybe she was reading this wrong. Perhaps this was polite coworker conversation.

Maybe she just felt too much and read too far into it.

“Well, since I asked you something probably _too_ personal,” Wanda started as James barked a laugh. “It’s open season. Ask me anything you want.”

“We playin’ spin the bottle next, or?”

Wanda tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach at the way he said it, knowing he was just trying to play it off as a high school joke.

“Hush,” she giggled. “I’m serious.”

James hummed and hawed dramatically, drumming his fingers against the carpet as he screwed his expression into some sort of thinking face. Wanda chuckled breathily, pressing her lips together as she waited for the answer.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get back out there? Into the real world?”

‘ _Hug my brother, probably_ ,’ was the first answer on her lips, a rote line she’d parroted back to confessional cameras for the last few weeks. They always filmed a pre-interview that was only shown if the contestant went home, and that question was constant in all her filming.

Some days she wondered whether they were expecting a different answer. Others, she daydreamed of the most outlandish things she could tell them with a straight face, just to screw with them.

“Um, I don’t know,” Wanda replied, playing coy as James looked momentarily offended.

“Come on,” he pressed with a tentative smile. “You don’t miss the internet? Talking to people on the phone? TV?”

“Not really. Is that bad?” Wanda asked with a chuckle, rolling over to lean on her forearms as he looked up at her. 

James stopped for a moment as if sizing her up, the smile slipping away for just a flicker. Like something had clicked in his own head. And something in Wanda wondered if she’d given him the wrong answer if she’d misread something or given him the wrong idea.

“No, no,” he said quietly, finally. “You’re living your dream. There are bigger things going on. Bigger forces at work.”

And Wanda couldn’t help but feel he sounded a little sad at that. 

She wasn’t sure if that was a holdover from his own journey through stardom or if there was something he knew that she didn’t. Wanda wished she could peek into his head, figure out just what he was thinking under that mess of brown hair, but James’s eyes were already darting to the clock on the wall, then to the door.

It always felt too soon, like their sessions flew by way too quickly.

“Anyway, I should probably go,” James said suddenly, lifting himself off the floor and brushing the fuzz off his pant legs. “I, uh, guess this is it for us. Until the finale.”

He was right. This was their last session. The performance was tonight, after all, when she’d learn her fate and find out if she was going to be just another runner up. But ‘ _this is it for us_?’ It sounded so permanent the way he said it. As the safety of the studio, and James started to fade away, like a carpet was ripped out from under her, the nerves started to settle in again.

Her legs felt like lead as she shakily got up to her feet, following James out the door. 

“I guess so.”

Her eyes tracked James as his hand went to her shoulder, offering a squeeze in that same sad tone.

“Good luck with soundcheck,” James mumbled before adding with the ghost of a smile, “I know you’ll do it anyway, but knock ’em dead, kid. You’ve got this.”

Nodding numbly, Wanda could feel a pang in the pit of her stomach as he walked out the door without her. And all through hair, make-up and wardrobe, Wanda was just running through the song in her head over and over again, trying to find any awkward transitions or lines she’d want to play to the camera.

It was Tandy who broke her concentration, poking her head into the green room with a tentative, “Five minutes to soundcheck, Wanda.”

“Right,” Wanda breathed, setting down the sheet music and getting to her feet.

After all, the show must go on.

* * *

“Any last words?”

The words sounded even more hollow than usual, parroted out by today’s Production Assistant off a sheet of paper from behind the camera. Between the lens shoved in her face and the glare of the lights, she couldn’t even make out the person’s face. Not that she would have been able to process it even if she could.

Wanda was practically vibrating, toe-tapping and fiddling with the rings stacks on her fingers. Nervous didn’t even come close to what she was feeling, knowing she was on the cusp of something.

Failure or success, with no in-between.

“Just ready to get out there and give it my all.”

Smile, cut, lights off.

It all just felt off. Even Tandy was unusually quiet during their last meal together. Her tablet, which she usually clung to like it held state secrets (it probably did), was face-down on the table. She eyed Wanda warily as she picked at her food.

“You alright?” Tandy asked, finally breaking the verging on awkward silence.

Wanda bit her lip and tilted her head, “Just ready to get it over with.”

The last eight weeks had felt like a lifetime, and now that she was at the end, she was dying to get back to reality, minus the television.

“You’re not going to throw up, right? You were kind of giving me that vibe,” Tandy replied with a wry smile, sounding more like herself. But something in her look told Wanda she didn’t exactly believe her.

“No,” Wanda chuckled. “Puke-free, I promise.”

“Good. That’d be hard to explain to the network,” Tandy said, eyes flashing as she stilled and her hand quickly moved to her earpiece. “Copy, bringing Wanda to stage.”

“They’re ready for me?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ready for you, Wanda,” Tandy huffed a laugh. “But yeah, you’re up in five.”

Wanda nearly jumped out of her skin at the hand that found hers as she stared at the stage. Her head snapped to find James beside her, threading his fingers through hers. And even though she couldn’t hear him through her earpiece, over the steady thrum of her heartbeat, or past the hum of the crowd, she knew what he was trying to say.

“Thank you,” she mouthed with a smile, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear much either. “For everything.”

“And one last time, let’s give up for Wanda Maximoff and her song _We’re Not Friends_.”

Wanda caught the flicker of a confused look on James’s face as she made her way to center stage with one last deep breath.

“ _We’ve been lying to ourselves, acting like we’re something else. How’d we get in this masquerade? There’s a secret in your eyes; it’s the same one that’s in mine. Aren’t you tired of being this way?_ ”

Crossing the floor, Wanda sang right into the stage left camera, trying to throw a little more confidence into each step.

If she wanted to win this, she had to own this performance.

“ _Call it what you want, but it won’t change a thing. Call it what you want, but at the end of the day,_ ” Wanda sang, bracing for the reveal of the chorus she’d been working on for weeks.

And after Strange’s teardown last week, she knew if she wanted to win this week, her song had to be real and raw. So much so that she struggled to keep James’s face out of her mind, excited and nervous and full of butterflies as she wondered what his reaction would be.

Because this song didn’t exist in a bubble. It was a reflection of everything she’d kept herself up with at night, and she’d have to own _that_ too, no matter the response.

Every single word.

“ _We’re a kiss at 2am that tastes like wine. We’re a ride home in the dark, with our fingers intertwined. You and me keep on tryna pretend, but you and me, yeah, we gotta admit._ ”

While Wanda couldn’t hear it over her in-ears, she could see the audience clapping along to the beat. With a smile, she picked up the rhythm herself, clapping along to encourage the crowd.

And every time her eyes slipped to the judges, all she could see were the papers and pens in front of them, abandoned on the desk as they watched with smiles. 

“ _We’re an extra set of clothes on the bedroom floor, where I see you all the time, but still wanna see you more. You and me keep on tryna pretend, but you and me, we’re not friends._ ”

She even caught a glimpse of Natasha’s red hair behind the primary camera operator, tablet still tucked under her arm as she gave Wanda a knowing look.

“ _No, we're not friends._ ”

The clapping started to pick up in pace as Wanda sang the last line, crescendoing into applause as she thanked the cameras and the crowd with a wave and a swift bow before Daisy was brought to centerstage beside her. She quickly latched onto Wanda’s hand, giving her shoulder a bump, but neither of them said anything.

Both too nervous for words.

But Wanda couldn’t help but look behind her, hoping beyond hope that she could catch a glimpse of James’s face, maybe try to decode what he’d thought of her song, but now wasn’t the time.

She just hoped she’d have a chance to see him again once the dust settled, no matter the result.

“And now comes the moment of truth,” Luis started, walking by the judges’ table and collecting their scorecards and the envelope that contained one of their names.

The blood pumping through Wanda’s ears made it hard to follow along, her eyes wandering to the judge’s faces and the people in the audience before they snapped back to Luis’s face as he pried open the envelope.

“Our next Instant Star is…”

Maybe it was Wanda’s sense of time that seemed to melt the moment into molasses as if she was watching Luis’s lips move in slow motion, the empty air drowning out the murmurs in the crowd and the heart-thumping background music, but the silence seemed to stretch on forever.

“Wanda Maximoff.”

There were balloons or confetti, or maybe even both. Wanda couldn’t move, frozen with her hand in front of her mouth as the words echoed in her bones. It was Daisy who squeezed her hand for dear life, practically shoving her towards the camera as the production crew zoomed in for a close-up.

And what a shot it must have been, Wanda staring at the judges in disbelief as she expected them to throw in a punchline and take it away just as quickly as it had been offered. But everyone else seemed to melt away from the scene as a familiar mop of silvery hair approached the stage, led by Natasha Romanoff.

“Pietro!”

Wanda wrapped her arms around her brother, who was probably whispering encouragement somewhere in the flood of lights and sounds. Her fingers burrowed into his shirt, pulling away to get a good look at him and just making out the words “so proud of you,” leaving his lips as the camera honed in on her celebration.

“The judges and I have spoken,” Tony’s voice was now echoing through the auditorium as half the stage cameras shifted their focus to follow him walking towards the stage and right up to Wanda. 

He was so close, she could smell his aftershave, staring at him dumbly as she tried to push back the tears. 

“And I officially called dibs. Coin toss and everything. So I’d like to formally invite you to the SI Music family, Wanda Maximoff.” 

“Congratulations, you earned this,” Carol added with a smile from the judges’ table.

Tony closed in on Wanda, leaning in, so his mouth was inches from her ear and just out of view of the camera.

“Oh, and don’t worry about your mentor. I might have also offered him the opportunity to produce your album,” he added in a lower voice. “Since you two have _musical_ chemistry and all.”

Clearly, Tony Stark was trying hard to sweeten the pot out of earshot of the audience, who was now listening to Luis list off thanks to sponsors and details of the prize as the camera crew captured b-roll of the stage. With a showy shake of her hand, Tony Stark plastered on a broad smile and turned back towards the camera for one audio-free take. 

“But we’ll get to the paperwork and all those pesky details after this. Enjoy the moment,” Tony added out of the side of his mouth. 

Wanda was just about to turn back to her brother when another arm wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her into an unexpected hug.

“Well, that was ballsy.” 

She would have recognized that voice in her ear everywhere, pulling back to find James Barnes’s awestruck face staring back at her. He offered a wry smile and a “Proud of you, kid.”

So, taking Tony Stark’s advice, Wanda grinned and posed for the flashbulbs in the proud hold of her brother and James, still vibrating as her eyes took in everything around the room full of press in disbelief.

She _won_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready to meet the rest of the SI Music team? See you in two weeks!


	7. There's No Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’d by the one and only @treaddelicately, who I adore and appreciate.
> 
> A little housekeeping: we have a target end chapter for this fic! I finally plotted out the endgame, and it _looks_ like it’ll end at 25— which, full disclosure, could go up by a couple depending on development. Felicia’s betting it’ll be closer to 30.
> 
> There is also now [a playlist for this fic here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/50NutVaOFkWaFP9szKFSbI). I’ll try to remember to add to it when I post updates!
> 
> Anyway, back to the fic!
> 
> This chapter’s song is [There’s No Way by Lauv, featuring Julia Michaels](https://open.spotify.com/track/0WTN7om3lHG3yYMigwzBxl?si=yzt_oHc3SIeIQeYQwWBWMg)

Wanda had been dreaming of this moment for weeks. 

Not the win— not precisely. Wanda had been looking forward to that minute, that second, really, when the cameras were turned off and her every move wasn't being scrutinized in real-time (and later by the public). But sitting in a makeshift office at the back of the studio, she suddenly felt like this was the real nightmare all along.

"Do you have an entertainment lawyer you'd like to call to review any of the paperwork?"

Wanda stared blankly at Pepper Potts, Executive VP of SI Music, dressed in a crisp pencil skirt set in a beautiful shade of ivory. In her hands was a stack of paper Wanda might have assumed was more thesis statement than record contract. She wasn't even sure she could pick it up, wondering if it would just concuss someone or actually kill them should she use it as a weapon. 

That stupid, silly thought was the only though keeping her heartbeat from pulsing in her ears as she felt the weight of it in her hands.

"My lawyer's pretty good, if you need a recommendation?" James murmured into her ear, craning over from his spot in the chair beside hers.

He, too, was here to talk business and money and professional opportunities, with Mr. Stark clearly hellbent on keeping their creative team together for the transition. And looking around at the suited sharks around the room staring back at her like she was the next piece of meat to be dropped into the water, Wanda realized she probably shouldn't blindly sign her rights away.

Plus, there was that guaranteed prize money. For once in her life, she could afford a good lawyer (and _couldn't_ afford screwing this up).

"Yeah," Wanda whispered back. "Yes, please. That would be great."

With a quick nod, James turned back towards the rest of the room and announced, "Ms. Walters will be looking over both sets of paperwork, then. Based on her last text, it'll probably take her another half hour or so to get here, so, break?"

James eyed Wanda, knowing she was already dead on her feet after a full day of performance and rehearsals, press pre-interviews and recording her last confessionals for the show. 

"Yes, I think a bit of a breather is a good idea," Pepper agreed, smoothing out her skirt as she crossed the room to open the door for them.

James was the next to hop onto his feet, holding it open as he looked back to Wanda.

"I'm going to get some air if you want to join?" James offered, smiling at Wanda's hurried nod as she scrambled out of the chair and towards the exit.

She wasn't sure if he could tell she was overwhelmed and struggling to wrap her head around the whole thing, but James gently guided her through the halls with a gentle hand at her lower back. It wasn't long before they made it to an emergency exit door they both knew well and took the stairs up to the roof.

Something about the night air, full of car exhaust while she was running on fumes, made Wanda feel like she could finally breathe again. There was this new weight on her shoulders as she slumped down to the ground by the ledge, looking out into the studio grounds at the golf carts crossing the parking lot.

At least Pietro was long gone from the fray, on his way to a nearby hotel for the next few days while they worked out the details.

God, she wished she could slip into that hotel bed right about now.

"I always hated this part of the business," James admitted, as he shucked off his flannel. There was the fumbled click of a lighter as he talked with a joint between his mouth, trying to cup it away from the breeze. "Paperwork and contracts, negotiations and approvals… everyone's just trying to figure out the best way to fuck each other over most of the time."

It was halfway through his sentence that Wanda realized she'd never seen him without long sleeves before, her eyes trailing down to the silvery spiderwebs of scarring on his left arm. How had she never seen that before? All those hours spent in close quarters, and somehow he'd always managed to be in a sweater or fitted long-sleeved shirt.

But Wanda clearly lingered too long on them, offering a quiet, "Sorry" when James's eyes dropped down to follow hers.

"No, it's OK," James said, offering her the now-lit joint which she gladly took. "It was an uh, accident. Back in my band days, when we were touring. Patch of black ice. Tour bus. Bad time all around."

And it was then when it clicked, that distant feeling piece of knowledge she'd tucked away during her teen years. It was a ten-car pile-up or something, a freak accident that caused their tour van to flip over in the middle of a highway in the middle of winter. 

The band had stopped touring not long after that, calling it quits entirely the next year or so.

Had someone died in that accident? She could have sworn that was part of the story. But Wanda didn't feel right asking. This already felt so intrusive, her seeing this part of him he'd been so careful to keep away from the cameras and the public.

And selfishly, it was hard to focus too much on the past when there was so much going on in her own professional life at the moment.

Maybe it was time for a topic change.

"Have you done business with Stark before?" Wanda asked suddenly, passing him back the joint and letting out a drawn-out puff of smoke. "He uh, seemed very keen on signing you on too."

"Not directly," James replied. "The Head of Artist Development, Sam, he's a good guy, though. I know him from back from his talent scout days. And if he trusts Sam enough to keep him on the team, I guess I can trust him as far as I can throw him."

Wanda nodded dumbly, feeling so far out of her league that it was almost comical. She just had to have her made-for-television mentor refer her to a _lawyer_ , but she'd need a manager, an accountant, maybe even a personal assistant or a coach… She'd always heard growing up that successful business people hired experts to do the hard stuff for them, that it was how they _stayed_ successful, but it was becoming clearer and clearer that it took a village to make a musician.

And Wanda was slowly realizing she'd be placing a lot of trust in anyone she allowed entry to that particular group.

James seemed to sense her hesitancy, "How are you feeling about the whole thing?"

"Well, it seems like Stark wants to take me seriously, which is nice," Wanda conceded. "I mean, he clearly thinks we work well together."

"I think so too," James added with a wink and a nudge of his elbow. "And I think we have more than enough to make a killer record. Tony knows that too, I'd bet."

Wanda couldn't help but smile, each compliment adding to the flush in her cheeks. 

"Thanks. I guess it's just a lot. Tomorrow's just press, from what they said. And then meeting the label team, writing, recording, touring… It seems daunting."

“It _is_ daunting,” James admitted through a cloud of smoke. "But you'll get through it. It gets less scary once you see how big the team is. And I'll be here, too, in case you need an ear or a gut check along the way."

The lines were starting to get blurrier the longer they sat up there, staring at the sky. 

"So, what did you really think of the song?" she asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

They still had some time to kill, and the silence was starting to fry her nerves, making those intrusive thoughts about legal jargon and morality clauses reverberate a little too loud in her head.

"It was the best thing you wrote all season," James said firmly, before breaking into a smirk. "I can't believe you kept it from me."

"I wanted to do it on my own," Wanda explained, observing his expression for any tell.

"I know. I respect that," James clarified, his hair curtaining his face from the lights coming up from street level. "There was a lot of heart in it. Vulnerability, I guess, which is what the judges had wanted from you."

Was he too scared to ask the question, or did he just assume it was about someone else? Wanda wondered whether James was just trying to keep things professional with them or if he was missing all the signs. Or maybe he just didn't do relationships or dating to begin with— she'd never been around the Hollywood or industry types, but she'd heard stories.

Wanda declined the next pass of the joint, trying to keep her head about her as she tried to piece together what they were.

A buzz brought her out of her reveries as James's phone lit up on the ground beside him, "Ah, shit. That's Jen. Yeah?" he asked, phone at his ear. "We're coming down. Looks like she made good time."

"It's a wonder with LA traffic," Wanda mused, having overheard enough from the resident staff to know that was the thing to say around these parts.

She could feel James chuckle as he helped her off the ground, feeling a little empty as his fingers pulled away from hers and they got back down to business.

They'd have other moments, she decided. They were a team now. 

And so they both wove their way back to the office, absentmindedly sniffing at their clothes to make sure they didn't smell like a dispensary before sitting down and flipping through all 162 pages of her contract, line-by-line.

Needless to say, it was a long night.

* * *

Wanda managed to get three whole hours of sleep, rolling out of bed with a groan and a shake of her head as her phone blared from the nightstand. 

And suddenly, Tandy's wake-ups and subsequent ushering out the door didn't seem so bad in comparison. 

Pietro was still fast asleep in his room. Wanda peeked in on him as she quietly made her way out the door and caught a cab. Part of her wished they’d had more time to celebrate, with just them, but this was just the way things had to be. At least for now.

They probably wouldn't even cross paths until the evening when she was free of contractual obligations.

But, this had the potential to be a big change for both of them. Not just _her_. This could be a much better life for both of them if she worked hard enough.

After hair, make-up, and enough coffee to give an elephant the jitters, Wanda made it through the last few interviews with the select and exclusive publications the _Instant Star_ team had negotiated with for a couple cover stories. They talked about her humble beginnings, each wanting to focus a little on her parents' death and life with Pietro back in Nashville. But, beyond that, they both seemed very interested in another relationship of hers.

The one between her and James.

At first, she danced around it, using the flowery kind of language people did with coworkers or neighbours they liked and respected. They worked well together. They clicked musically; he was receptive to feedback and had an excellent ear for music that she trusted. But by the end of the day, it was getting closer to admitting that she couldn't imagine her _Instant Star_ experience without him— never mind _winning_.

And by the time she was shuffled to SI Music's LA office, Wanda was more confused than she was the night before, wondering if she'd said too much or too little. Not that she'd have long to worry about that.

James was waiting for her in the foyer, as were Pepper and Tony. Wanda didn't get a chance to greet them before Tony's mouth was running away with him, "Hey! It's our new moneymaker—"

"Tony!" Pepper admonished with a sigh and a shake of her head. "You can't joke about that. It's a wonder we don't get more HR complaints, honestly. Sorry about him, Wanda. How were the accommodations?"

"Lovely, thank you," Wanda said with a smile.

"And the interviews this morning?"

Tony looked interested in her answer, looking up from his phone as she replied, "Easy enough."

"Glad to hear it," Pepper said. "Today, we just wanted to introduce you both to some of the team, maybe put a couple of songs in front of you to start thinking about a direction for the album…" Her eyes slid over to James before settling back to Wanda, "But no pressure! I know last night was a long one, and you're probably running on fumes."

"I should be alright for a little while," Wanda admitted, sounding the most unsure she had all day. "As long as James is?"

"No rest for the wicked," James shrugged.

He looked about as tired as she felt, rings around the eyes and all, even without all the press and prep. 

Part of her wondered what exactly he'd been up to between this morning and this afternoon, but it wasn't really her place to ask. And was it just her, or did he look a little nervous?

"Great! We're just through here."

Wanda didn't have much time to dwell on it, with Pepper leading them through the frosted glass doors and into a swell of chatter, keyboard clicks and music. 

Everything looked like it was straight out of some architectural magazine, all sleek lines and sky-high ceilings. Even the desks looked fancy, with custom made coat lockers and top of the line screens at every desk. Tony Stark did love his flashy toys, she remembered, stopping as they huddled around the reception area.

Pepper gestured to the slim brunet sitting behind the desk, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, "Wanda and James, this is Peter. He's currently in our internship program and manages our front desk when he's not shadowing some of our other staff. Peter, this is Wanda Maximoff and—"

"James Buchanan Barnes, oh boy," Peter rattled off, bolting up from his seat with his eyes as big as saucers. "Big fan. And Ms. Maximoff, your performance last night was _incredible_."

James looked flattered, if only for a moment, as his veneer slipped off, slipping into a nonchalant shrug as he offered a "Thanks, kid."

Wanda chuckled as he turned to her, "It's just Wanda, Peter. But thank you. It's very nice to meet you."

"Now might be a good time to close your mouth, Pete. You'll catch flies," Tony shot with a smirk as he ruffled his hair.

Peter quickly straightened and sat back in his office chair with a bashful smile, "Sorry."

With a cough, Tony patted Peter on the back and addressed the rest of the group, "And this is where I leave you folks, in Ms. Potts's competent and dainty hands. James, Wanda, Peter." 

And after three cursory nods in each of their directions, Tony Stark spun on his heel and puttered down the hall.

"Back to the tour, then." Leading them past rows of cubicles and desks, Pepper knocked on a nearby office and popped her head in, "Sam? Got a minute."

But from the flash of recognition in his eyes, Wanda knew that Pepper wouldn't have to make any introductions to this group.

"Hey! My man," Sam strode forward, clasping hands with Bucky and pulling him into a half-hug. "Heard the news this morning. Welcome to the team."

"Thanks, man. Excited to be on this project," James said, settling into something akin to his real smile— or at least, a smile she'd seen a few times in passing— as he turned to her. "This is Wanda, by the way, but I'm sure you knew that already. Wanda, this is Sam, head of Artist Development. You and him will probably spend a lot of time together in the next few months."

Wanda could see the gap in Sam's front teeth, standing out from the flash of white in a very gracious smile. "Absolutely. Truth be told, I am looking forward to _you_ way more than the old fogey over there."

"I resent that," James griped, though Wanda could see it was playful.

With a wave and a handful of pleasantries, they were off to the next section of the studio, made up of long, glass-line halls and soundproofed doors. Wanda peeked through the glass panels into the individual studios, her eyes washing over the lights and knobs of the soundboards and the expensive-looking equipment that sat in each booth.

"And this," Pepper introduced with a smile, "is where the real magic happens. As part of your contract, you and James will have access to a private studio for the next month or so while you work out your album."

James bumped Wanda's elbow with his, shooting her an excited smile at the prospect, which is when Wanda realized that her smile had dropped somewhere among the excitement. Her brain was still trying to play catch-up to all the sights and sounds around her, filing away the names and faces of the people she'd been introduced to.

It still didn't feel real, even as she stood between Pepper Potts and James Barnes.

"And to practice…" Pepper continued down the hall, her voice trailing behind her before they all stopped at the end of it. "We have a fully-kitted practice room that you will also have access to."

A band's worth of instruments— a very _eclectic_ band, if she was honest— sat in the bright room. Light poured in from the floor to ceiling windows, highlighting everything from the grand piano to the drum kit, to even the star in the corner.

"And if you two are alright with it, I'll leave you here?" Pepper asked. "Maybe you can walk Wanda through some of those songs I sent you?"

"Absolutely," James replied with a nod. "Thanks for the tour, Pepper."

"Yes, thank you!" Wanda chimed in.

"It's the least I could do. Welcome to the family, you two."

And with one final bright smile, Pepper Potts clicked down the hall out of sight as James and Wanda stood frozen in the doorway of the practice studio.

"Shall we?" James offered with a sweep of his arm.

He quickly ended up at the piano, taking a seat and setting down a pile of paper on the rest. James spread his finger across the keys, testing a couple of chords as he read the sheet music. But once Wanda could hear him start to play for real, working out the progression.

The music came to an abrupt stop after his pass through the first page, and looking over his shoulder at the lyrics, she could guess why.

"So, uh, full disclosure. These aren't my songs or your songs, not yet." James chuckled at the crease setting in Wanda's forehead. "The label sent these after last night's performance to offer a little variety to our songwriting. It's not uncommon to have some guest written songs, especially on a debut."

Of course, Wanda realized. He was trying to soften the blow, so it didn't seem like her writing was the problem. This was just part of the process.

But she was curious to know what exactly prompted this _particular_ song being sent their way.

"I uh," James cleared his throat. "I guess I'll start this one-off. It's a duet," he added, pointing to the notations in the sheet music.

"Let's do it."

And off his fingers flew over the keys, effortlessly alternating chords as he sang, " _You touch me, and it's almost like we knew that there will be history between us two. We knew someday that we would have regrets, but we just ignored them the night we met._ "

Wanda could have listened to James forever, watching him instead of the sheet music as he sang. They used to do this all the time with her songs, but it felt different when it was something they were both meant to sing.

" _We just dance backwards into each other, trying to keep our feelings secretly covered. You touch me, and it's almost like we knew that there will be history._ ”

James looked a little embarrassed at the subject matter, but his fingers continued into the chorus, leaning closer to get to the upper register as they transition. Finding the beat, Wanda sang along, her eyes drifting over to make sure she kept pace with him.

" _There's no way that it's not going there, with the way that we're looking at each other. There's no way that it's not going there. Every second with you, I want another. But maybe we can hold off one sec, so we can keep this tension in check._ ”

She was always amazed at how natural their voices sounded together. There was no clash of styles or tones— his voice and hers just seemed to melt together with the piano in their simplified run-through of something neither of them had written.

But, somehow, it still felt personal.

" _But there's no way that it's not going there, with the way that we're looking at each other._ "

Wanda quickly fell into the effortless harmonies —maybe too easy— where they both sang, easily sliding into her designated key. And taking over the singing into the second verse, the heat from their initial embarrassment seemed to fade, and she tried to treat it like any other performance.

" _I wish I could make the time stop, so we could forget everything and everyone. I wish that the time would line up, so we could just give in to what we want. 'Cause, when I got somebody, you don't, and when you got somebody, I don't. I wish that the time would line up, so we could just give in._ "

James let the last chord ring out into the air with a breathy, "Good. Good." He shuffled through a few more papers, happening upon a CD with a sharpie tracklist on the outside of the envelope. He sounded a little tired as he sighed, "Looks like we have quite a few to listen to."

But Wanda was more interested in the process, the stories behind the songs that had just be thrown into their lap.

"So who writes these?"

Setting down the stack on the piano, James seemed like he had to think about his answer.

"Um, some people like me, who used to be in the industry and transitioned to a background role," James replied. "But there are full-time songwriters out there just churning stuff out."

He was on his feet before Wanda got to her next question, looking a little restless as he poked and prodded some of the instruments on display.

"Do you sing other peoples' songs? Or, _did_ you?”

"If they resonated. I think I only used a few in all our time writing— usually co-writes," James clarified. "But songs have to come from somewhere real, or else the performance comes off kind of shallow, you know? Or, at least, that's how I always saw it."

Wanda nodded, wondering if the question she was about to ask would be considered a dumb one. But, weighing her options, she decided to ask it anyway.

“Would you take _this_ song? If you were me?"

Right now, James was the one common thread she had, the only trust she'd built up over the last seven weeks in this LA bubble. And if there was anyone's opinion she valued, even above her own, it was his.

He'd proven to be right, at least a few times along the way.

"Maybe, but you should listen to the rest of them before you decide. Here, take this," James crossed the room and pulled the CD sleeve from the stack of papers before handing it to her. "This has some more demos I'll have you listen to tonight when you have a sec. I don't want to influence your choices since you'll have to perform them yourself. So, it's up to you where they come from."

"Sounds good," Wanda said tentatively, looking down at it like it held the mysteries of the universe. She was lost in reading the tracklist when James chuckled. 

"You look like you could sleep for days. Here, how about we table this for tomorrow?" he asked, though he was already leading her out into the hall. "Get a fresh start on it when you aren't the walking dead? I have some things to look over while I'm here, but I'll see you out."

Wanda smiled weakly as they stood by the front desk, "Yeah, sure. Thanks. See you tomorrow?"

His crinkly-eyed grin was back in full force as he replied, "Bright and early."

“Ten is _not_ early,” scoffed, remembering their schedule.

"It is for this 'old fogey,'" James chirped back as he guided her towards the front door. Holding it open for her, hand resting at the small of her back, he told her softly, "Get some rest."

Wanda nodded dumbly, voice crackling as she added a "You too."

She tried not to think too hard about how distracted he'd seemed that day, but it was all she could think about on the cab ride home and even over dinner with Pietro. 

And even when Wanda fell asleep that night, all she could dream of was the few lines he'd sung to her in the studio. 

Hoping it wouldn't be the last time she heard him sing.


	8. Cheap Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the effervescent @treaddelicately, who I appreciate immensely.
> 
> This song was actually not in the original plan, but as I started writing the last chapter and the next one, I realized it needed to be here. And now it’s the longest chapter of the fic (so far).
> 
> Enjoy! And don't miss the series news in the end note!
> 
> This chapter’s song is Cheap Date by Caitlyn Smith and has been added to the [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/50NutVaOFkWaFP9szKFSbI).

Passing a stack of newspapers and magazines the label had sent over since she was featured in, Wanda rolled the service cart piled high with empty plates outside their hotel door, trying to close it quietly behind her. 

Pietro was still fast asleep in his adjoining room, and she didn’t want to wake him with the typical early morning slamming door— well, typical for her lately. 

Relocating him from Nashville to LA during all of this hadn’t exactly been in the plan. Then again, winning hadn’t been more than a daydream before a few weeks ago. But somewhere along the way, he’d refused to leave his sister alone in the City of Angels.

Well, _both_ of them alone, really. 

And it was probably for the best. The label had been putting Wanda through the wringer with a fast-tracked degree in being a professional musician.

It was a lot harder than it looked.

So most of their things were still in Nashville in an apartment that hadn’t been lived in for weeks. Both of them had only brought the essentials; instruments, keepsakes, and family heirlooms, which were few and far between. 

The siblings still had to discuss where they were going to settle down, but Wanda hadn’t really had the time between all her newfound responsibilities.

And this morning, she was off to another early start at the office— which of course, meant a pitstop for coffee. James had texted to meet up before she got locked in a room with Sam for an hour. She’d found him waiting for in the hotel lobby, perched in a sitting chair wearing a hat and sunglasses, even though the sun had only just risen.

“That’s a good look on you. Keeping up your mystique?”

“Too early to deal with people,” he grumbled, tugging at the brim of his cap. “Wilson and his early fucking meetings.”

“ _You_ didn’t have to be up this early,” Wanda reminded him as their feet hit the sidewalk. “You wanted to—”

“See you off on your first day of PR school? Yeah, yeah,” he groused. “I’m a fuckin’ saint.”

They’d practically been inseparable, songwriting for Wanda’s upcoming album. Maybe it was a little protective of him to want to see her off like this, but it was nice to know someone was in her corner as she started to talk more seriously about career moves and strategy. 

There was so much that went on behind the scenes of a new album that Wanda felt a little like she was just treading water, waiting for the next wave. 

Sam’s introductory meeting was the first thing on the agenda, figuring out just what artist development would mean for Wanda’s career. James had warned her this first session might feel more like school than work— homework and all —but she was just excited to get a closer look at how the whole music business machine worked.

But, if the universe had heard James tempting it, they didn’t manage to get the quiet morning he’d been hoping for.

“Wanda Maximoff, right? And _you’re_ James Barnes.”

Bright eyes flicked from Wanda to James with the breathless tone. He immediately stiffened beside her, the hand on the small of her back pushing a little harder than usual. James was clearly nervous, pointed out in a crowded cafe as the head turned and the whispers started. But all Wanda could be was flattered as she nodded and smiled back at the barista behind the cash register. 

It was the first time someone recognized her in public.

“That’s us. Don’t be so grumpy,” Wanda warned James under her breath, nudging him with her elbow and a broad smile for the barista. He seemed to soften at that, adding a gruff “Hi” that appeared to satisfy Wanda and their new friend. 

“Holy _shi_ — sorry, I’m a big fan. Um, congrats on winning Instant Star, Wanda,” the barista smiled. “Your coffees are on me. I insist.”

“You don’t—” Wanda started, but James had already stuffed a twenty in the tip jar with his silent thanks, ushering them over to the drink counter to wait for their order. “That happen a lot to you?” Wanda asked in a hushed whisper, leaning in towards his ear.

“Enough,” he replied, tugging his ball-cap further down his face as his eyes scanned the cafe.

Wanda’s did too, suddenly feeling a lot like she did when filming the show: watched. 

Over the last few weeks, James and Wanda had been locked in the practice studio at SI morning until night, at least five times a week. There were dozens of songs to parse through, some from Instant Star practice sessions and even others from the label. Their days were split between rehearsals and recording. Demos here and there, seeking approval from the higher-ups and sitting back down to do it all over again.

They were starting to go a little stir crazy, frankly, so these outings were critical in maintaining their caffeine levels and sanity.

“Sorry, Wanda, right?”

A smaller voice was in her ear, and Wanda looked down to find a girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, staring up at her with her phone clutched tightly in her hands.

“That’s me! It’s nice to meet you…?”

“Nico,” the girl added with a smile. “Ca-can I take a selfie with you, please? I was so excited when you won! You were my favourite all the way through.”

Wanda grinned wider than she knew possible, unable to keep the smile off her face as she got out a shaky reply, “Of course, Nico.”

Holding up her phone to the ceiling and tilting the front-facing camera down, they took a few options before the girl graciously thanked Wanda and went on her way. The hushed whispers started around the cafe, sweeping across the floor as heads turned and the tap of cellphone photographers started. 

It felt like the room was closing in on her, the familiar buzz of an audience, but without barricades or a stage or even security—

“Wanda!”

The name nearly made her jump, clutching her chest as James teased as he grabbed both of their drinks off the counter. Wanda had never been more thankful to leave somewhere, pulling her hood up as they walked out of the cafe and towards the office.

“Looks like you’re going to have to get used to that,” James teased, bumping her hip with his.

Wanda huffed a nervous laugh, “I doubt it. I’m sure people won’t even recognize me in a month or two. The novelty will wear off.”

But even as uncomfortable as the situation was, she hoped that wouldn’t be the case— not really. And Wanda half-expected James to give her a lecture on gratitude or manners, but all she got was a signature James Barnes smirk.

“Don’t think you’ll be that lucky,” he shot back under his breath. “Anyway, let’s get back to the office. Wilson’s probably already waiting for you. Tapping his toes and everything, I’d bet.”

James wasn’t that far off. 

The pair strolled in to find Sam perched in his ergonomic chair (probably worth more than her rent back in Nashville). With a low whistle, he heckled them, “You two taking your time, huh? You better have my order if you’re making me wait in my own goddamn office.”

Wanda handed him the third cup of coffee on the tray, “Lactose-free caramel latte with an extra shot.”

“A literal angel,” Sam crooned, mostly to the cup, as he shot James a look over Wanda’s shoulder. “Why can’t you be as nice as your protege over here, Barnes?”

“Because I know you better,” James shot back from the hallway, only half-joking by Wanda’s guess as Sam clucked and closed the door in his face.

“So, now that it’s just us,” Sam said, turning back to face her with a wry grin. “Are you a coffee or a tea person?”

Nearly blinded by Sam’s toothy smile Wanda couldn’t help but mirror, she gently shook her head and held up her own cup. “Oh, most days I will drink whatever I can get my hands on,” Wanda said, nestling into a velvet chair in front of his desk. “But _tea_ , if you’re keeping track.”

“I always am,” Sam replied, smoothly taking his seat. “How’ve you been doing? Since the win?”

Wanda’s hands fidgeted in her lap, remembering she wasn’t saying this for cameras and didn’t need to repeat the question in her answer. It was funny how long all of those little habits seemed to stick around, half expecting a producer to waltz through the door at any given moment.

“Good. You know, just trying to get settled. It’s been nice having Pietro around at least, easier.”

“Of course, of course. Well, I’m here for all that sort of stuff, anything that helps you out and ensures you’re comfortable. It’s uh, part marketing, a little customer service and a whole lot of logistics,” Sam said with a grin. “I’ll walk you through a few things to start you off today— mostly image stuff we should all keep in mind as we finish off the album. Then you can go home and sleep on it and come back to the next meeting with any questions or concerns.”

Their chat had barely started, and Wanda was already swimming in details, just trying to keep up with Sam’s sharp lines and little jokes. But she nodded, all the same, offering a breathless “Yeah” to keep the conversation moving.

“So, on our front, we’ve verified the handles of the social media you currently use—”

She was about to interrupt and tell him most of them were set to private, but Sam beat her to the punch.

“We haven’t flipped any switches or anything. It’s up to you what you do with them, but I’m happy to provide some suggestions. We’ve also secured the same handles on any platforms you’re not currently on, mostly for security purposes, if we’re honest.”

Sam explained that catfishing was a real problem, especially with ex-reality TV stars, and it would be a good idea to put herself out there a little more. Wanda’s stomach was in knots just thinking about having to maintain a public presence. She never thought she would be here, wondering if she was one tweet away from a barrage of unwanted online interactions.

It almost felt like she was right back in front of the lens— but she was her own camera operator producer.

“But we’ve done a lot of research—” Sam flipped through several slides of line graphs and pie charts, statistical figures in bold hues with flashy titles. “—and can honestly say pretty much any recommendation we’ll make— _I’ll_ make is backed with the data.”

“So, are we writing a song via algorithm, or?” Wanda slipped in with a lilt, watching as Sam’s face lit up with a grin.

“Not quite there yet, but it does mean we won’t have you stopping by the Joe Rogan Experience anytime soon. Not quite your demo.”

Ah. Right. _Press_.

“So no US Weekly exclusive or foray into Scientology?”

Sam grimaced at that one, “Don’t even joke.”

Wanda mimed locking her lips shut and throwing away the key.

“Normally, we would have a publicist deal with this, but we’re currently hiring for the position, along with _your_ manager.”

“ _My_ manager?”

“Once we get a manager on board, we’ll have more of a solid strategy in the way of press and social media for you. When we get to touring and anything beyond, it’ll be helpful to have someone on the road with you and check in to handle the business-y stuff. Reports, logistics, security concerns—”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed, “Is there something to be concerned about with security?”

Sam stopped mid-sentence, appraising her carefully. 

“No, not right now, but realistically, there might be in the future. Better to be safe than sorry.”

“Do— Would I get a say on who they are?” Wanda asked a little quieter, her throat tightening at the fact that James’s fear that morning could have been warranted. Maybe she was getting too comfortable being out in public, especially considering she _just_ got off a national reality TV show. “Not that I want to be a brat about it or anything—”

Same shook his head, palms out in concession as he assured her, “No, you don’t have to apologize or walk that back. Absolutely, you get a say in it. You can veto them entirely if you just don’t click, Wanda. But I’m confident we’ll be able to find someone that will work for you.”

Wanda nodded and breathed, feeling a little better about it, “OK.”

“So, anyway, sorry, usually there would be more of an explanation as far as press and media were concerned...” Sam stopped on a slide of terms Wanda had only seen from the other side of a magazine.

Blind items, product placements, interviews, exclusives… Anyone who’d read TMZ for more than three minutes knew pretty much every term. It had been a while since she’d thought about the impact and reaction that must have been on social media or in even further corners of the internet.

Wanda was biting her lip before she even realized it.

“You alright? Still with me?” Sam checked as Wanda had to snap herself out of her head.

“Sorry, I zoned out. You were saying?”

Wanda didn’t seem to absorb much of what Sam was throwing at her across the table, peppering in nods and affirmations to make it seem like she was following along. She mostly just wanted it to be done with, feeling a little like this meeting gave her more anxiety than career trajectory.

Maybe things would change when she had a manager to oversee this, or perhaps she should pick James’s brain in the meantime—

“So, for things like public appearances, personal trainers, restaurants and stuff, we’ll have some recommendations for you, probably daily for the next little while, moving into weekly after that. Speaking of, have you thought about getting a place down here?”

“Down here?” Wanda asked, feeling like she’d tuned in three-quarters of the way through the conversation.

How was she already playing catch-up?

“Either here or New York is most common— makes trips to the office, recording, sourcing talent a lot easier,” Sam explained. “No rush, you have until the end of the recording sessions in the accommodations we’ve set you up in.”

Wanda nodded dimly. She knew the hotel the label was putting her in was pretty expensive— it wasn’t something that she could afford once they wrapped production. And honestly, she’d rather have someplace to come home to, to call hers and Pietro’s, but she didn’t even know where to start with looking.

East coast or west? Was LA really where she saw herself staying?

“But in the short term, we’ll get you hooked up with a vocal coach. It’s just good practice for someone who’s heading on the road for the first time, and we find it makes a big difference.” Sam turned his chair back to face Wanda instead of his computer screen, observing her as he asked, “Any questions?”

If she did have any, they seemed to melt away from her mind, leaving Wanda catching her breath from what had been a whirlwind conversation. Sam had covered so much, and yet Wanda sat there feeling like she hadn’t absorbed any of it. This was starting to become a theme.

Wanda plastered on a grateful smile and said, “I’ll let you know if I think of any. Thanks so much for your help, Sam.”

But all she could think was fuck, she was in over her head.

* * *

“You OK?”

James caught her drifting off with her guitar in hand, staring out the window as her thoughts raced. He’d been looking her up and down since she got in from Sam’s meeting, voice low and slow as they tried to piece together a song, but nothing seemed to be coming to her.

“Yeah…” Wanda breathed, trying to get her head on straight. “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t sleep well.”

Maybe he was too nice to call her out on the blatant lie.

“How about we order in some food and decompress a little?” James asked, shifting in his seat as we looked at the clock. “My place isn’t far from here. Might do some good to get us out of the studio for an afternoon?”

A change of scenery might do her good, Wanda decided, grateful for his offer, “Yes, please.”

They ended up grabbing Chinese food, James driving them both back to his place across town. Wanda couldn’t remember being in a car this nice in her whole life, watching as downtown LA passed her by. James was quiet most of the ride. Maybe he was trying to let her find her own voice. 

It wasn’t until they were stopped in the restaurant’s parking lot that he decided to broach the subject.

“So Sam gave you the whole rundown? It’s a lot to process.”

She could feel his eyes on her face as he waited for the restaurant to send a pick-up notification to his phone. Wanda tried to sound casual, eyes drifting off to the busy streets, lights and sounds.

“Sure seemed like it. Tour manager, vocal coach, press, market research—”

“Ah yeah, the fun stuff,” James same drolly.

Swivelling in her seat to face him, she asked, “Is it really _that_ much? All the time? Social media? The press and the rumours and stuff?”

James huffed a laughed, “I feel like I’m the wrong person to ask. The last time I used social media was the Myspace days, and the press an’ me ain’t exactly friends. Hold on, I’ll show you.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through what looked to be emails as Wanda watched.

“See? I get this shit from my ‘ _publicist_ ’ every so often,” he griped, tilting the phone towards Wanda.

It looked like one of the blind items Instagram pages, with a red circle encasing James’ Instagram handle, tagged in the comment sections of one of the items. It read,

_It is love or something else? A certain foreign-born d-list musician is trying desperately to climb the ladder, clutching onto this former bad boy for dear life. But sources say the ladder’s not the only thing she’s interested in climbing…_

Were they talking about James and Wanda?

He must have sensed her unease, immediately turning off the phone as his eyes narrowed, “Wanda, it’s nothing. This shit is written so vaguely, and you _know_ they practically pull it out of thin air to get more impressions and ad revenue.” 

She nodded dimly, eyes locked to the floor and face burning as she tried to believe him. 

With a sigh, James reached over and clasped where her hand was resting on the center console. Wanda tried hard not to think about his hand on hers, fingers curling under her palms as he locked eyes with her. 

“Don’t _ever_ think that the press or the rumour mills are your fault. You’ll drive yourself crazy doing that,” James’s eyes flicked back down to his phone, reading the notification as he unbuckled himself and headed into the restaurant.

Wanda would probably never forget how casually James introduced his place to her— she was already entranced in the lobby, the colourful art and marble finishings distracting her from the well-dressed concierge behind the desk. He tipped his hat at James, wishing him a good day as they both headed to the elevator.

“And this,” James said after a few fumbles with his keys, “is my place.”

“Holy shit,” Wanda breathed as she stepped through the door. 

James sauntered past her, heading further in to drop off the plastic take-out containers and grab cutlery and drinks. It gave her a little more time to snoop, taking in the fifteen-foot ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows. She’d heard a lot of LA factories had been turned into lofts, but she’d never seen one like this in person. 

Minimal furniture, but what was there was all distinctly James. A mish-mash of vintage-looking wood furniture with more modern chrome elements. There were gold records and first prints of albums on the wall, gathering dust. There was a loft area that he seemed to use for storage— either that or it was where he put his travel cases out to pasture, big black and silver crates on display.

She’d bet he had a studio in here, probably a dozen or so instruments tucked into some unseen room, but Wanda was happy to wait for a tour.

“So Myspace? Really?” she called out, trying to get a rise out of him as he laid out all the take-out on the coffee table.

They both had a tendency to prefer the floor over chairs, and for that, she was kind of grateful.

“You caught that, huh?” James chuckled without turning his head to her. He handed her a plate that Wanda quickly filled, settling down on his rug as James hummed and hawed over the dishes. “Yeah, I’m not really a wealth of knowledge. I had an Instagram account until a year or two back. Don’t really see the need now, but I can see why Sam would push it. It’s kind of make or break these days.”

“Mostly break,” Wanda added between bites of orange chicken, earning a head bob from James.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” James added. “You could just throw out their rulebook entirely.”

“I’m not you, James,” she said with a fond smile. “I’m a total unknown, so I get why they want me to get in front of it… It’s just a lot.”

They both settled into the silence after that, the only sound the shuffling of rice on plates or the crunch of an egg roll. James seemed to be thinking about something hard, deep in thought before he set down his plate, got to his feet and crossed the room.

He returned with a guitar in hand, cherry red and worn where he’d rest his hand. It had clearly been through the wringer, Wanda could even see some fills and replaced parts along the neck, but it was clearly well-loved.

“Hey, how about we try that song again? The one we were trying at the studio?” he offered, sitting down cross-legged in front of her on the floor.

James quickly tapped on his phone, setting it to record as he strummed out a simple chord progression, urging Wanda on. She wasn’t used to thinking on her feet like this, trying to remember where they had landed on the bare-bones lyrics but ad-libbing as she sang.

“ _Pop the cork on yesterday’s wine, ’cause I don’t feel like going out tonight. Let’s spin a couple of forty-fives and order some Chinese take-out._ ”

James grinned as he played, a breathy chuckle crackling over his guitar.

“ _Do the dishes and turn down the lights, watch West Side Story for the eighteenth time. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my Friday night._ ”

‘I could,’ he mouthed, but all Wanda could do was giggle into the next line.

“ _No cover charge or taxicabs. C’mon, baby, what do you say?_ ”

Wanda was spurred on by James’s nods, head bobbing to the beat as they both transitioned into the chorus.

“ _I’ll be your cheap date. Put my little black dress away, ’cause I’m not really into the party downtown. I’m more about the right here, right now. Think of all the loving we’ll make. Think of all the money we’ll save. You don’t have to go far to take me home. I’ll be your cheap date._ ”

James let the last chord ring out into the room, with a proud smile Wanda couldn’t help but mirror. He whispered, “That’s it!”

And that’s how the rest of their evening went, trading little stories over food. They tried to piece together more of the song between courses until they were too full to function, flopped on the ground in front of the TV— the only thing lighting the room.

Neither of them had noticed the sun setting, too wrapped up in the music and each other.

“Oh shit, I’ve kept you _way_ too long,” James chuckled, looking at the time on his phone. “Let me get you a cab back.”

He walked her down to the lobby to wait with the concierge, and she made sure to thank him before she left. 

Her skin was still buzzing from his hug goodbye, brain firing on all cylinders as the rest of the song just seemed to come to her— like it had been waiting for that exact moment to rush out. Wanda hummed as she typed out lyrics in the back of a cab, frantically trying to get it out on her screen before it left her head completely. 

She was barely a foot past the door when she ran into Pietro, a bowl of cereal in his hands as he stared at her.

“You have a song, don’t you? I know that face,” Pietro asked as soon as she pulled off her coat. He didn’t wait for her response before adding, “I know that look. That’s the look of you writing. Your writing face.”

“I do _not_ have a writing face.”

Pietro huffed a laugh, “Sure. And you also do not have a hopeless romantic face, I’m sure. I’m assuming tonight went well then, with James?”

“A— _what_? What does that matter, Piet?”

“Mhm,” he hummed a little tauntingly. But he was gone, calling out over his shoulder, “Goodnight!” before Wanda could get a word in, closing the door to his adjoining room in a flash.

Crossing the room to the guitar case leaning against the wall, she pulled it out and pulled back her hair. Setting her phone to record, Wanda settled down onto the floor, taking the guitar into her lap and working through it.

She tapped her phone screen to stop the recording, sinking down to the floor to take hurried notes in her spiral-bound notebook, unable to get the sound of James’s laugh out of her head— the one in the background of the raw recording he’d taken. It sounded so natural, like it should have been part of the song, to begin with. The warmth and the joy and the little crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“ _Never cared much for fancy champagne, unpronounceable fancy French names. I’d much rather just sit on the couch and make out. Mmm, it’s been a long hard week. And I don’t want nothing but you holding me._ ”

Wanda caught herself drifting off in thought, cheeks sore from all the smiling she’d been doing as she worked on the song.

Pietro slunk in an hour later to find her half-asleep on the bedspread, pencil still in hand. 

Setting her papers and pencil on the nightstand, he tucked her in and turned off the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! A little news: This series will be switching to weekly updates in March!! I've been working hard behind the scenes to get this pre-written enough to switch, so this will be the last time I can say this:
> 
> See you in two weeks!


	9. The Next Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Are we all ready for this fic to be updated weekly? I sure am! This chapter was beta'd by the scintillating @treaddelicately! 💜
> 
> (and just a note: I’ll be using Romanian in place of Sokovian. _soră = sister_
> 
> This chapter's song is The Next Round by Frank Turner, and it has been added to the [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/50NutVaOFkWaFP9szKFSbI).

Wanda woke up with a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Normally she’d chalk it up to nerves— but after weeks of having to face a television camera and full suite of production assistants, it was hard to feel like she was worrying over nothing. There was no tangible reason for her jitters, the way her hand shook as she sipped at her mugful of tea, staring at her untouched plate full of fruit.

Pietro sat across from her at their hotel suite’s dining table, lips twisted into a frown as he clucked. 

“Why aren’t you eating anything? You can’t go to work on an empty stomach, Wanda.”

He’d been at it all week— nagging and hovering and altogether concerned about the pressures and the demands of a newly-signed musician. Starting with her sleeping habits —apparently, she’d fallen asleep at her desk a few too many times— and culminating with him thinking she was looking gaunt.

Now, apparently, he’d decided to further cement his (often too) parental role by seeing her off in the mornings and making sure she had some sort of dinner with him at night.

“Too nervous,” Wanda sighed, trying to cool down her tea with a breath.

Sure, even she would admit she looked a little more run-down than usual, but it was nowhere near enough to justify Pietro mother-henning her.

“You’ve been nervous since the moment I’ve been here, Wanda. I’d bet since the moment you got here too.” 

She didn’t have the guts to shoot that down, knowing her twin brother would see right through any veneer she put up. It wasn’t like her to not meet his eye, locked onto the tablecloth to avoid furthering the twisting in her stomach.

Pietro set his fork down and stared at her, lowering his voice away from the _disappointed in you_ tone and back towards concern. “You won, _soră_. When are you going to acknowledge that this is happening? That it’s real, and you deserve to enjoy every moment?”

“When it feels like someone isn’t just going to walk by and pull the rug out from under me,” Wanda murmured, cutlery clanging onto the full plate in front of her. It all still felt so fragile. Like one lousy album review or news article could send her right back to Nashville, where she started.

Worse, even. 

She could be forced back home with a scarlet letter pinned to her shirt and ‘one-hit-wonder’ added to her in her Wikipedia article. Logically, Wanda knew she couldn’t obsess over every little hit piece for the end of time— someone else she paid would do that instead— but this opportunity still felt like sand slipping through her fingers.

“Maybe when we finish with the album.”

But Pietro didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, “Then what? There’s still tour, marketing, press… You have to take it easy on yourself.” He reached across the table, taking her hand, “I’m here to help, too. I’ll remind you every day if I have to.”

“I know you will,” Wanda said, a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile on her face. “Thank you, Piet.”

He smiled, “It’s what I’m here for.”

* * *

Wanda felt a little like she was in a zoo. Staring out through the glass at Sam and James, who were sitting in front of the soundboard, she was a little cagey.

It felt like they’d been staring at the same list of songs for weeks now, even if she knew it wasn’t true. Things hadn’t been going as well as she’d hoped— production turned out to be more of a battle than she’d planned for. She and James had managed to add a few new originals in the last few weeks, but they were still butting heads on some of the arrangements.

Sam, to his credit, had warned her this would happen. That producers and musicians didn’t always see eye-to-eye on the finished product. Still, it was a normal part of album production, even if it seemed to lead to a total meltdown every time Wanda questioned something along the way.

“Are you sure we need more strings on that? I feel like it’s drowning out the vocals,” Wanda asked into the microphone, watching James sigh silently through the glass before reaching over to press the two-way button on the panel.

“Yep. Sounds better.”

James wasn’t helping, keeping his feedback to terse responses that she couldn’t get a read on. She wasn’t sure if it was him trying to keep things professional at work or if there was something else going behind the scenes.

Sam kept shooting him worried glances— and come to think of it, it was a little weird he had decided to suddenly pop into a production session in the first place. 

Did he know something she didn’t?

Wanda watched their lips flap silently through the glass, clearly talking amongst themselves. It was getting a little heated from what she could read— which was really only body language since they didn’t have the two-way on. 

The creases in James’s face seemed to only get deeper as he replied to Sam.

“It sounds great from here, Wanda,” Sam added, reaching across James to press the button and offer her a reassuring look. Gaze sliding over to James, he said, “Maybe we could use a break? Decaffeinated and get back at it in twenty?”

Wanda wondered if Sam was here to play referee, if someone had tipped him off that it wasn’t just rainbows and roses in the recording booth. But either way, she nodded with a quiet, “Sure,” and pulled off her headphones.

James didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, pushing back and out of his chair in a huff before she’d even escaped the recording booth. He’d tugged his jacket off the nearby chair and storming out of the studio before Wanda could get a word in edge-wise, leaving Wanda and Sam alone in the production area.

“Don’t take it personal,” Sam assured. “It’s not you. He’s just… There’s some stuff going on behind the scenes, and…”

He sighed, eyes flicking up like he was analyzing Wanda’s expression.

“Just, trust me. I’ve known James a long time. He’ll be fine.”

Not wanting to give away just how shaken she was at the whole thing, Wanda nodded dumbly. “Thanks, Sam.”

“It really does sound great,” he assured. “Tony’s been reviewing the cuts and hasn’t had too much feedback, which is rare. I mean, it was weird enough when he brought James in without much fuss—”

Wanda furrowed her brows at that, asking, “He doesn’t typically do that? Work with outside producers?”

“Not in all the time I’ve been here,” Sam admitted with a shrug. “He usually keeps it pretty in-house for the most part. He must have really liked what you and James came up with during the show.”

“Huh—” Wanda started, halfway to asking him a follow-up question when James popped his head back in the room.

“Wanda, can I borrow you for a second?” James asked, looking to Sam for permission as Wanda stuttered out a response.

“Y-yeah, sure.”

Her gut was already churning as Sam looked like he was on the precipice of intervening. Still, she shook it off and headed into the hallway to hear him out.

“Sorry if I seemed like—” he stopped, letting out a nervous sigh as he ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve been kind of shitty this morning, and I want you to know it’s just because I care.”

Wanda raised a brow, itching to shoot back something snide about how being an asshole wasn’t going to make either of them a better musician, but she held her tongue and waited for the rest.

“I know we’ve been back and forth a lot, but I just don’t think that’s the best direction for you to go in,” James continued, blue eyes a little softer now. “I think you can sound a lot better than that, and I want this album to be a reflection of you as a musician, you know?”

“I’ve never done this before, James. I’m not trying to be a pain—”

“I know, I know. I’ve been kind of a jerk. I’m sorry, Wanda. There’s just a lot going on, and I know that’s not an excuse, but I really am. Sorry, that is.”

Wow, an apology. She almost believed James, taking in the tired bags under his eyes and overall mussed appearance. He _looked_ off— not himself. Tired, maybe? It was hard to tell what exactly was going on, but all Wanda knew was that this wasn’t the same James she’d gone back and forth with over songs even just a week ago.

So she nodded, shrugging a little as she stared up at him, “It’s fine. I should trust your expertise more, I guess.”

Sam’s eyes snapped between the pair, looking like he was considering his options.

“Listen, you two. I think we could all use a breather after we get some coffee. We’ll come back to this track tomorrow, OK?” Sam offered. “We’ve got a guitarist coming in to lay down some of the final tracks, and it’s probably best if we’re all here for approvals, yeah?”

James and Wanda nodded, flipping the switches and settings as James played back where they’d left off on tracking _Place We Were Made_.

* * *

Somewhere in the haze of the rest of the day, they managed to finalize another track, and James even offered a faint smile or two along the way. There were no more fights or apologies, and Wanda hoped they could just sweep this all under the rug and move on.

Still, her brain wasn’t quite ready to let go of this guilty feeling, even once she left the studio and was back in the safety of the hotel.

“How’s writing and recording going?” Pietro asked, mouth still half-full of his dinner.

Wanda looked up from swirling her fork through her mashed potatoes, finding her brother sporting a concerned look beside her on the couch. They had long abandoned the tiny dining table, with Wanda too tired to be civilized. So, instead, she set her plate in her lap and tried to dull the noise in her brain with a little TV.

“It’s going.”

Wanda gave up on her food, setting the dish on the coffee table in front of them and sinking into the couch. Pietro, too, put his plate aside and gave her his full attention, brows furrowed.

“You’re even more distracted than usual. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Wanda. I’m your twin. I’m not stupid,” Pietro insisted, which earned an eye-roll from Wanda. “It’s James.”

It wasn’t a question or a hunch. Pietro knew as well as she did that she had it bad for her producer. Some nights they’d talk plainly about it, how she should act or bring it up— or even _if_ she should But every day, she came back to the hotel without news. And every night, it seemed to weigh heavier and heavier on her heart.

Wanda sighed, laying her head on Pietro’s shoulder, “I feel like I pissed him off or something. Sam says it isn’t personal, but it sure feels like it is.”

Pietro frowned, pulling her into his side and murmuring, “Do you need me to beat him up?”

“Piet! You can’t say things like that,” Wanda nearly screeched, eyes at her hairline. “And no. No, I’m probably overthinking it. It’s fine,” she tried to assure.

Even if it was a total lie.

“Anyway, I’m also worried because we still don’t have a place to _go_ once the album is done.”

“You mean, a place for me to stay? Since you’ll be on the road?” Pietro clarified with a bit of a lilt. “Don’t worry about me, I can always find something while you’re away.”

Wanda shook her head, “No, we should find a place we both like for the time being. Something bright and warm and ours.”

Her thoughts drifted to the massive windows and cozy rugs at James’s apartment. How it seemed to embody him. How it seemed to feel familiar.

“Next week,” Pietro assured, cutting into her daydream. “We can go apartment hunting.”

Another thing to add to the pile of concerns, but at least it could wait until next week.

Tomorrow was another story.

* * *

It took a lot of caffeine (and a still-warm croissant for good measure) for Wanda to work up enough courage to head back to the studio the next day. She tried to put on her best face as she walked through the door, offering a warm “Good morning!” to Peter as she passed the desk. 

Wanda was just weaving her way through the office towards the studio when Sam caught her in the hallway with a nervous smile.

“Hey, sorry, I meant to call you, but we’re going to have to cancel today’s session.”

All of the thoughts in Wanda’s head ground to a halt. 

“Oh.”

Sam’s mouth twisted into almost a grimace as he added, “Yeah, James can’t make it.”

Alarm bells immediately started to go off.

It wasn’t like James to bail on a session. As much as he liked to joke about early hours —anytime before noon, really— and the traffic on his ’long commute’— which was about a twenty-minute drive— he was _always_ there. In the four weeks they’d been working together with SI, he’d never missed an appointment.

So Wanda couldn’t help but wonder if this was because of _her_. Had she pushed his too far the day before? Exacerbated whatever the secret issue in his own life was? 

“Maybe I’ll rehearse a little?” Wanda asked, feeling a little like she had to ask permission to even be there without a good reason. “Since I’m here anyway?”

Sam looked unsure as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, I think the main practice room is in use, so as long as you’re alright using the smaller one?”

Wanda’s eyes instinctively narrowed, not having seen another soul using that room in all the time she’d been there, but she brushed it off with a breezy “Yeah, sure. No problem.” as Sam wished her luck and ducked back into his office.

“ _I drink because I’m thirsty, I drink because I’m dry. I’m not yet quite thirty, but I feel like I’m dying. I drink because I want to, ’cause I need to, ’cause I don’t know what else to do with my time._ ”

It wasn’t long before she could hear the soft tinkle of piano keys as she headed down the long hallway. She couldn’t quite piece together the melody, with some of the notes struck too quietly to catch.

“ _I won’t say it, but you can see it in my eyes._ ”

If she hadn’t been paying attention to it, Wanda probably would have ignored the distant music. Maybe she would have even written it off as a recording being played. But dragging her fingers along the concrete walls, she listening closer, tilting her head slightly.

“ _You drink because you’re lonely, you drink because you’re sad. You always claim every party… was the best time you’ve ever had. You drink because you’re scared of a life of living off your own company._ ”

She was only a few doors away now, listening to the low, gravelly voice sung out half-heartedly— a voice she’d know anywhere.

“ _You won’t say it, but I can see it in your eyes._ ”

Wanda finally reached the end of the hall, just a few steps away from the smaller studio she was supposed to be in, but there was a crack in the larger practice room’s door. And just as she had assumed, James sat at the piano bench, long brown hair curtaining his face as he played along.

“ _Of all of the things I could become, a lonely drunkard isn’t one for which I would’ve wished when I was young. But drink has drunk my days away. I tried to live like Hemingway, but life just doesn’t work that way. And the pills don’t kill the pain. They just delay._ ”

Breath was hard to come by as she watched, silently, feeling like she was intruding on a too-personal moment she didn’t even have the context for. But Wanda could just _feel_ the pain, the agony that came out through his words.

And all she could do was watch.

“ _We drink because we’re scared that, if we should stop, the good times will go away, but the bad times will not. And what if it’s over, and we’re sober, and we still feel like we’re fixing to die? What then? Don’t say it, ’cause I can see it in your eyes._ ”

She could hear the crackling in his voice, the tightness in his throat as he struggled to hit the higher notes, the piano getting progressively louder with every chord.

“ _The next round’s on me_.”

And by the end, he was practically yelling the line, Wanda’s stomach. Twisting at the sound and the strain. The emotions just pouring out of him as he belted out the last line over and over again.

“Where’s Buck?”

Worried she’d been caught, Wanda’s head whipped around to find a tall blond in the middle of the hallway, just outside of where she’d just been standing. Sam was there now, too, pointing the blond towards her direction as she tried to figure out how not to look as guilty as she felt.

“Just down the hall in the practice room,” she heard Sam say to the stranger. “Thanks for coming, Steve.”

But ‘Steve’ merely waved him off, bolting past Wanda and toward the now twinkling keys of the piano, leaving her to stare at a now-closed practice room door. She almost had to catch her breath as she did, wondering what the hell she’d just witnessed and whether it was even worth it to try to sneak in some practice.

“It’s the anniversary, you know. Of his accident,” Sam murmured, Wanda nearly jumping at the surprise of him being so close, so quickly.

Wanda’s eyes snapped between Sam and the door, trying to fill in the rest of the blanks.

“Steve—?”

“Steve was in the band with Buck, along with Riley,” Sam explained. “I was the one who told James not to bother with today’s session. He looked a mess, so I called Steve in. Figured he’d be going through a rough time today and could use a friend.”

 _Riley_. The member who’d died as a result of the accident, it was all coming back now. But Wanda wasn’t concerned about that anymore. She was more worried by the crease in Sam’s face as he, too, stared at the door.

And even though she could almost read the answer between the lines, Wanda asked the question anyway. “How long have you known James?”

“Ever since they started the band,” Sam replied with the ghost of a smile. “Riley was my best friend.”

“I’m so sorry,” Wanda offered, lips tugging down into a frown as she struggled to find the right words to say.

“Nah, it’s not on you. It’s five years today.”

Wanda wondered if it got easier somehow, with time. She wouldn’t know. Her parents’ deaths often felt as fresh as the day it happened, even though it had been almost two years now. Sam seemed to notice her thoughts drift off, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder as his eyes narrowed.

“Are you alright, Wanda?” he asked softly. “This is probably a lot, on top of an already crazy couple of months.”

“Yeah,” Wanda breathed. “I’m fine. I just hope James is…”

Sam reached around and gently rubbed her shoulder, “He’ll be fine. He always is.”

But from what she’d seen and heard, Wanda wasn’t so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly unrelated: my one-year AO3 posting anniversary is coming up, and I’m writing bonus chapters for some of my completed fics to celebrate. If you are interested in seeing some of my fics get extended, [the link to vote on fics and the full details are listed here](https://pasmonblog.tumblr.com/post/644454862511325184).

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will be updated every Wednesday.
> 
> If there’s something you like about a chapter, I’d love to hear it (because chances are, I can weave more of it in).
> 
> Kudos, comments and bookmarks make my heart pitter patter, and I appreciate you all so much 💜


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